High Crimes (BDSM, drug use) (Retrojapan x Traveler)

[Traveler]

It was fifteen minutes until his shift ended, and then he would enjoy the fruits of his labor. Today that meant Bar-B-Que and beer with the boys; a night of poker, bourbon and cigars until the whipped ones with a ring on their finger had to call Uber to drive their asses back to their wives. He eased the throttle as he approached the off-ramp, enjoying the way cars moved away as he approached, eager to let him get ahead of him rather than turning his lights on and pulling them over.

He glanced into a lightly tinted window as he pulled up to the red light and noticed the blue glow illuminating the driver's face. A quick -tap, tap- on the glass brought the phone down and a sheepish look from the idiot behind the wheel. Texting...when were they going to give up that habit? He nodded slowly. 'I see you, I'm giving you a break. Knock that shit off, Moron.' All that, conveyed in a dipping of the head. He grinned behind the tinted shield. Sometimes power was a good thing, especially when you were the one wielding it.

When the light changed he checked to each side, for red-light violators (and motorcycle killers), then shot across the intersection. Three more miles, then he’d be home free. Two right turns and a left. A bit of paperwork, some chit-chat with the shift change –

The radio cracked to life in his earpiece. “Adam-30, there’s a 484 in your location. Response requested.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered, then louder, “I’m 10-10 in five minutes.” He really didn’t want to have to respond to an idiotic petty theft. They were more trouble than they were worth. Couldn’t you just cane them and send them on their way?

“Negative. You’re the only one available.” The voice on the other side was smirking, he knew it. That bitch knew that tonight was the one night of the week he never took overtime. His jaws tightened as he listened to her relay the location requesting a police response. How was he going to book someone? That was one of the reasons he loved being a Motor Cop. No vomit in the back seat, no cursing hookers kicking at the cage…he just cited them and responded when support was needed. Nice and neat.

“Affirmative. I’m en route.” He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing he was pissed. He turned the BMW around and headed the way he’d come, clipping back on the freeway for a few exits before pulling off the interstate into one of the swankier parts of town. He checked the parking lot as he drove in, looking for any accomplices waiting in an idling car. No one looked especially suspicious, but he didn’t expect it here with their neatly trimmed bushes, perfect lawns, and high-end shops. Even what passed for the rich version of a 7-11 looked Hollywood-clean. The movie side of Hollywood, not the reality. He flipped up his tinted shield and strode across the lot with the confidence of knowing he was the Alpha predator to all the curious prey who chanced to see him.

As he pushed his way through the glass doors, his eyes met the anxious gaze of what had to be the manager. She looked more like a ‘Karen’, but her name tag and the comfortable shoes definitely had a ‘manager’ vibe going. He slid off his sunglasses and smiled at her. A quick glance at her name tag…Karen. Hmm. “Hi Karen. I’m Officer Sterling. Someone called in a petty theft?”

 

[Retrojapan]

This was easily the last call Officer Sterling would have ever wanted to take in his life. Plato's Closet was the hippie new age zodiac bullshit store men his age cringe about. The one girl's always drag their boyfriend's into on dates where no one ever buys anything so the store is overflowing with so much junk that Iona was pretty accustomed to helping herself to tarot cards, a rose quartz dildo, book on tantric sex, some Kama Sutra body oil gimmick, and a glass pipe shaped like a mushroom tucked away in her messenger bag. It was a good day. She still stole even though she could totally afford it. She had daddy's credit card to bank it all without even having to explain "ROSE DILDO $19.99" on the statement at the end of the month because no one actually cared. She could have bought herself a car and it was fine. So she did. It was in the parking lot. Still, it all felt so much better to earn it all herself and not rely on her father so much. You know? This was all thanks to her hard work and ambition.

That's why it was really rude when Karen made it known that she was a fucking bitch. Everyone knew it. She had the haircut, the energy and the name tag to put a stop to the madness that was Iona stealing from a headshop that just fronted natural living and stoner culture. There was a guy in the back called K-hole and he had just sold her a bag before coming on shift, and no sooner than five minutes later, busting her ass on the spot because she'd skimped him again. It was only a twenty, but she liked to get away with shit. Besides, K-hole was supposed to her buddy, her friend, the doormat; the weed dealer. Fucking traitor!

"Not one - but two - rose quartz massage wands!" Karen tried to make the heist sound better than the stiff one it really was. The lady was super pretentious for the combined six inches that she was holding up like Exhibit A and Exhibit B. The cop was just arriving like the dickhole he probably was, and Iona actually pouted. Luckily though - they didn't find the weed baggie in her bra. Heh heh...

"Far from petty theft..." K-hole actually sounded pissed off at her. That was a low blow, buddy. It stung a little coming from the guy that sold mostly shake anyways. She was getting a new dealer after this. Show him.

"Over a hundred dollars value here at least, Officer." Karen reiterated, but she really was just trying to upsell the total shit she sold to afford her Bingo dabbers and Fresca. In all honesty - she was actually a little pissed off too. Having to involve police in such a lucrative entrepreneurship as selling rose quartz dildos and Bob Marley t-shirts across from Tibetan singing bowls and some books on Breathatarianism - was an omen. Cops were bad for business. His motorbike was outside and he had to be gone before the next stoner came in looking for some sandalwood.

The nineteen year old red head was no ordinary shoplifter in Plato's Closet that day (the ordinary ones had already made it out with some bong cleaner when K-hole stepped out to make the deal). She was the mayor's daughter in all her blue eyed boredom and apathy. Her slim five foot six frame and pale skin donned a sky blue mini dress that she actually paid six hundred dollars for in an actual store (fuck you Karen) with her father's credit card. So it was legitimate. She wore a pair of combat boots to kick K-hole's ass when this was through, and she was relieved it was a male cop because that was totally hot. The truth was that Iona actually looked like a very wholesome and sweet girl, which is exactly what she played up for the officer, dramatically sighing as if admitting defeat. Some quintessential wannabe-Woodstock song was playing really loudly throughout the store because that's the kind of cliche Plato's Closet was.

 

[Traveler]

As he strode through the isles his polished riding boots gave off an authoritative click with each step. Expensive oils, over-priced candles, and tchotchkes depicting various religious deities, lined the shelves, and the faint scent of pot and sandalwood wafted through lines of Bob Marley and the Wailers:

One love (hear the children crying)
One heart (sayin')
Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel alright (sayin')
Let's get together and feel alright
(whoa whoa whoa whoa)​

It was one of those shops that tried too hard to be authentically woke; a modern-era representation of the hippie life, franchised for the convenience of wealthy kids who bemoaned the evils of capitalism while sipping Starbucks and scrolling through their iPhones. He poked one end of his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, freeing his hands in case the perp decided to bolt.

Officer Sterling’s black uniform fit him snugly; he knew he drew looks from every woman he pulled over or rode by, and a few of the men as well. It didn’t hurt that his Sam Browne was stocked with two cases of cuffs, a baton, his weapons (lethal and non-lethal), extra magazines, a flashlight…the list went on and on, and the fantasies a few of his past girlfriends shared had involved the use of most of them. People were more compliant when they had something nice to look at; and he had made a pledge long ago never to be that fat-assed cop who got winded just thinking about running half a block.

He reached up to the radio on his shoulder and reported in. “Dispatch, this is Adam-30, I’m 10-97, break.” The bitch in the office confirmed and he turned down the volume. No need to broadcast to the world, was there?

Karen kept pace with him as she displayed some of the stolen goods. He raised and eyebrow and then glanced back towards the office where a red-headed girl sat in a cheap plastic chair and looked upset. Not upset like ‘I did something bad’; no…upset like ‘fucking assholes caught me’ upset. The kind of angry that entitled children had when they’re fun had been cut short.

Karen’s gangly store clerk piped up with his opinion about the magnitude of Red’s crimes. ‘Thank you, Columbo, for your insight and wisdom,’ Officer Sterling internalized as he approached the deadbeat in the back. The perp wasn’t bad-looking, which, he supposed, helped her in her little hobby. A quick glance at the clerk and he could guess how he might have been distracted by her assets; boys like him only got attention from girls like her if there was money or drugs involved, and she didn’t need money. His quick assessment told him that she was bored.

“Karen,” the officer raised a leather-clad hand to brush aside the ‘massage wands’ so he could look at her face rather than at the merchandise, “you are pressing charges, correct?” Without that commitment the paperwork was moot.

“Of course I’m pressing charges!” She flipped her bangs and pointed with one of the dildos at the girl in question. What she didn’t know was, that even though it was ‘over a hundred dollars’ it was still petty theft. The vixen in the back would have to steal a hell of a lot of Ben Wa balls to total the five grand mark.

“Let’s see some I.D.” he said as he held out a hand to her. ‘Nice legs, pouty lips. She’ll either marry rich or wind up in a porno. Or both.’ He smirked as he looked her over, then scanned the card. Christina Swan, age 21. He looked at the girl and scoffed. 'Riiight. Twenty-one.' A quick call into the office pulled up that the I.D. was a fake - the number belonged to a 45-year old, and the name and birthdate didn't match any drivers' licenses in the sate. "Hm," he eyed the girl. "You do know that Identification Theft is linked to terrorism, don't you? This could bump you up from a misdemeanor to a felony charge..."

“You are going to arrest her, aren’t you?” Karen peered up at him with insistence. “You’re going to set an example with her, aren’t you?” She snapped her glare to the red head. "Terrorist!"

He raised an eyebrow at the manager. Arrest, possibly. Cuff? Most definitely. Set an example with? Well, that wasn’t his plan at the moment, but it could change. He'd have to call in a cage, though; and that would take more of his night. Shit, it was shot anyway with the added paperwork this would provide. Just for that he was going to make it worth his while.

“So,” he turned his attention back to the redhead. He took her messenger bag and set it out of reach. “What happened? Daddy cut off your credit card?” He curled two fingers in a ‘stand up’ gesture. “Turn around and put your hands on that wall,” he said, indicating the one flat surface in the messy, Christmas light and clutter-decorated room that served as an office. Once she had turned, he widened her stance with a hard boot, tapping the insides of her feet until she spread her legs a little wider. Then he glanced at the clerk. “Tie-Die, get out. Karen, stay.” He wanted a witness for the pat down, but he wasn’t about to give the bean pole fap material for his late-night musings. “Got any weapons or anything I need to know about?”

 

[Retrojapan]

Officer Sterling obviously grasped the 'raw vegan holistic, but doing bath salts at Coachella' cesspool vibe Plato's Closet inspired. Iona had left her Starbucks in the car, actually, but her iPhone would never be more than two feet from her person. This was decree up until the moment the asshole cop moved her messenger bag less than a meter out of her two foot safe zone, alarm bells going off inside her brain. How the fuck was she supposed to live Tweet this monumental arrest à la selfie montage, daddy on speaker phone to take care of this buzzkill photo op? Ugh.

Iona didn't like the situation. First of all, never underestimate the worth of a good set Ben Wa balls - thick as thieves and not petty about it, either. One hundred percent of women like Karen didn't even have the pelvic floor muscles to be selling these pleasure balls in the first place. Second on the docket was her fake I.D card courtesy of the pleb guard who fapped outside her window most nights in the name of security. He was there to make sure no one else jerked off outside the mayor's daughter's window. He risked everything to get her what she wanted - which was a new legal age playground of shit to disturb. She had just sunk as low as performing a strip tease for him in her bedroom a few weeks ago for the opportunity to be Christina Swan, age 21. What a piss off!

Hands above her head and facing the wall with her legs spread more than enough, thank you. She was more than willing to spread it for him, which is perhaps why he widened her stance with the tap of his boots against hers. Her perfectly styled hair fell down her back in a loose crimson waves for an aesthetic selfie - if anyone cared to take it. K-Hole actually was taking a photo of it himself from through the glass in the door. That mother fucking son of a bitch.

Regardless of the situation, Iona was truly the victim here. The young woman was more than alright having Karen there to witness the pat down. In fact, she wasn't going to wait for the officer to begin looking for the marijuana in her bra before she looked at the bitch manager pleadingly. "Karen, please. Are you actually going to let him do this?" She shot a purposeful glare at the cop to emphasize her act. "Frisking up the under aged daughter of the mayor? Are you going to watch that?"

Karen thought for a moment as her Fresca, bingo dabber, boring, pathetic life flashed before her eyes. The life where she didn't even know about half the shit she sold in the store she worked eight years in. It was an obvious choice to let the officer continue. "I bet she has weapons! Check her bra! Women hide everything in there!"

 

[Traveler]

Daughter of the mayor? That was a huge claim, but one that he didn't think much of. Daughters, celebrities, they all should hold to the same laws as Joe-Blow and Karen-Smoe. He glanced over at the manager and wondered when he'd ever seen such a perfect example of life imitating art. Probably never. Officer Sterling reached up and pulled each of the red-head's hands to head level, his gloved fingers clamping over her wrists like cuffs, and grunted a "Be still," at her while he called in her claim that she was the daughter of some big wig politician. Big deal. 'Hm, she smells nice, for a Main Street Thief. Definitely not patchouli…”

At Karen's insistence that the girl had weapons, he leaned near Red's ear and asked. "Anything dangerous on you?" 'Besides your mouth,' he thought, smirking at her profile and moving his hands; started at her wrists, sliding down each arm, then the nape of her neck, a flat palm down her back and then sliding his hands up along her waist, fingers carefully probing where her bra wire might be, and anything else she'd secrete next to the weapons every woman was born with. Then there, he found it, but it wasn’t easy to get to. No matter, he’d finish his pat down and then he’d deal with whatever paraphernalia was tucked in next to her push up bras.

‘Oh, not push ups,’ he mused, reaching around her front and wrapping fingers around the rims of her breasts, hard around her rib cage, then flattening his hand to press down along the flat of her stomach to the top of her pubs. ‘Nice. Maybe this had been worth missing poker for after all.’ He worked his way down, squatting behind her with the ease of a man used to lifting heavy pieces of metal for recreation. His hands ran along the insides and outsides of each leg until the bumped against the heat of her core, then back down to rim the edge of each boot and then to press against the seams of her footwear. ‘Nothing in there but feet.’ He wondered what Karen was thinking, and if it was that she’d like a little pat down as well. A quick sideways glance told him that the woman had one hand on her stomach and one on her chest…yes. Yes, she did.

Standing, he took her left wrist in his hand and folded it behind her back, his other hand reaching behind himself to deftly remove a set of cuffs. “I’m not arresting you…yet,” he informed both the perp and the Karen. A quick -clip!- snugged her wrist in its circlet. He mirrored the movements with her right wrist, bringing them behind her and right above the small of her waist, which he had a more intimate knowledge of than a moment ago. He turned her around to face him and snugged his left glove tighter. “I felt something in your bra – I’m going to remove it. Want to tell me what it is before I go in?”

 

[Retrojapan]

Karen's instincts were going to be correct for the first time in her goddamned life. She was practically touching herself at the visual of the young redhead being molested by the much older cop. K-Hole literally was pawing himself through his pocket behind the door, ignoring the obvious lack of patronage. It was the end of the day so no one needed a jade pussy egg or a dream catcher with the Made in China sticker still on it. Karen was pointing accusingly at Iona's C cups like she had something to fucking prove with the weed. She really didn't. What gives? She was literally just being a bitch like the manager haircut she was.

"Nothing, sir." Iona replied, as if surprised he would even think to ask. She was a very sweet girl when she needed to be, which she needed to be at that moment. Her blue eyes slowly looked up to the taller man's, batting her lashes innocently. She kept her hands on the wall above her head, and felt his gloves down her arm and neck. She really didn't think he needed to be so thorough, but he was. He was definitely copping a feel of her tight little body, but if it was going to get her out of trouble - then she was going to let him.

The truth was that if she got into one more stint then her credit card and lifestyle was gone. In fact, she was going to have to smarten the hell up and be sent off to one of those Ivy League schools. You know, the ones your rich parents can just pay your entrance fees into. It was her biggest nightmare even though she kinda liked school. She was secretly an overachiever who loved to prove herself. There was K-Hole fapping at the door because he knew it too. Iona McBelle would do anything to be a good girl even though she got herself into trouble. It was probably just a phase.

That's why even though she was a sassy bitch in her own right and snorting through her nose as if irritated at the inconvenient pat down, Iona was still a little nervous about the hot older man frisking her waist and rimming the cups of her bra like he knew that was her hiding spot. Karen told him so. She could feel the bag of weed being tagged by his fingers and shifting against her chest inside her bra. She could feel her heart beating fast too because she was such a goody two shoes deep down. She just wanted someone to tell her she was good enough.

"Then why are you cuffing me, man!?" Iona cried out and actually tried to fight the cop putting her wrists behind her back. Just kidding! Ashton Kutcher crawling out from under the table with all the Tibetan singing bowls lined up. Punk'd! Where were the camera men and why wasn't the cop actually letting her get out? Her hands were cuffed behind her back a little too realistically. Karen held her breath the entire time. It was actually kind of hot.

Iona thought about all the answers she could give the officer so she could save herself. If she was arrested for shoplifting, or worse - possession - it was over. She had to give it all up, and be the stuck up cunt the people needed out of the mayor's daughter. A stick up her ass, a botched boob job and everything else that came with being a debutante socialite. The kind of Madonna/Whore Complex martyr for all the people to aspire. She would rather steal dildos from Plato's Closet then actually sell out to that. As it were.

"Oh that. It's very private, Officer..." Iona was going to get the fuck out of this situation before shit got real and her privileged soul-searching adventure came to and end. She was honestly just trying to figure herself out. The reality was she knew nothing about what she was capable of, or could truly feel. She had lived a very sheltered, small life. Despite this, she was also very clever and good at getting what she wanted. Especially from older men. It was a devious mix. Her eyes spotted the label across his chest which gave her what she was looking for."Sterling. It's a private matter for me and I would prefer if we were alone...”

Iona's eyes looked up at his again, practically cooing and pleading he take the bait. She had an offer he probably couldn't refuse, if only he would hear it out. No voyeur K-hole and Karen to hear her charm and desperation for the older man to take a gamble. It was poker night, after all.

 

[Traveler]

The officer’s lips curved up at her mention of it being ‘private’, as if someone who stole thumb-sized dildos and books on Tantric Sex should be shy of anything; and in that dress, no less. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her, the cuffs forcing her breasts to jut out like Pagan offerings to their gods. This was not the first time she had been in handcuffs, certainly. Just the first time they weren’t covered in fur and secured to a bed. The little urban princess was going to get a very eye-opening night in the County Jail. Hopefully it would be enough to deter her future plans of crime. If not…they’d be seeing each other again. Possibly involving a pole, some cash, and a loud, dark room full of unshaven men and bachelor parties.

Then she used his name and he scoffed. Very nice, trying to play the name card. His smile turned into a smirk. “Nice try, Lola. We’re not giving you a chance to claim anything happened that didn’t,” he raised his voice for the manager’s sake, “are we, Karen? This pat down went down nice and orderly. Nothing unusual happened.”

Karen made an ‘Mm-hmm,’ sound, her mind preoccupied with the juiciness springing in her cotton panties, making her very glad she wore the jeans with the thick seams in the crotch. Her Soccer-Mom fantasies were going to have a new edition to add to the shelf; cop arrests store manager late at night, cuffs her in the office, and then has his way showing her how she needed to obey…she pressed her lips together and squirmed. Ten minutes to closing, then as soon as her balding accountant husband started snoring…the personal massager behind a locked bathroom door.

The perp’s dress left only two ways into the bra; through the top, or underneath. It seemed an expensive model; the dress as well. He didn’t want to ruin it completely or leave stretch marks in the fabric to support any trollop’s accusation that he’d been anything other than professional, so he stepped between Karen and Tie-dye’s view, giving the vixen a modicum of privacy.

He leaned forward. “It’s Officer Sterling to you,” and slipped her dress up over her hips, revealing the tiny snatch of fabric that covered her most private of areas, so he could access her bra from below. His gloves were Kevlar lined leather, meant to protect him from needles and razor blades. Not the thick, road-worthy gloves he wore to ride. These allowed him to feel what he was touching, and as he slid his and along her abdomen, seeking out the wire that had so cleverly hid her stash, he felt the minute movements of her body. A firm flick with one hand, a probing with the other, and a small plastic bag filled with budilicious Mary Jane plopped into his palm. Nice. He slid her dress back over her hips, resisting the urge to pat her encouragingly on her tight little ass, and held up the bag for inspection.

“What is this, half an ounce?” He shook his head and laid that to the side as well. He’d have to go through her purse eventually. This gal’s rap sheet was getting longer by the minute. “Let’s start with your real name.”

Kevin knocked on the window, evoking Karen’s impatient “We’re busy!”

“There’s someone here who wants to buy that big Buddha on the shelf,” he called out.

The ‘big Buddha’ was a five-hundred-dollar fake jade piece of shit, but it was the biggest single sale of the week. Karen had been in a competition with the other franchises; the one with the most personal sales this week would win a spa day at the local casino; crack for suburban middle-aged women and something that she’d get to brag about until the next Plato’s Closet competition. Her eyes darted between the cop’s back and K-hole, and then she decided. “I’ll be right back,” she whined as she hurried to the door. “Just give me five minutes.”

Officer Sterling nodded. “Five minutes,” then to the Red-head, “spill it.” His eyes flickered over her body; she looked good in restraints.

 

[Retrojapan]

Iona's wholesome looks and bitchy attitude triggered people, so of course the cop thought she was a stupid slut with daddy issues. She was. She was also stealing thumb-sized dildos and books on tantric sex because she was curious. What of it? How else was someone who raised herself supposed to learn about these things? The young girl barely stuck a finger inside and those massage wands were three inches of uncharted territory. Here's looking to you, Officer Sterling.

Karen was casually gyrating against that thick seam in her pants while the cop slipped Iona's blue dress over her hips like he was a man in his thirties about to ogle a nineteen year old with no one to tell him no. She sighed in defeat as the fabric pulled over her body to reveal her recent splurge from Victoria's Secret. She practically wore it just for him. It was a generous effort for him to step in between Karen's weeping seams and the wet spot on the leg of K-Hole's jeans. Like the man actually cared about her modesty as he ran his gloved hands along her abdomen for literally no reason. "Alright, Officer...." The red head warned, but it was too late. The bag was in his glove like a magic trick ("How'd he do that!?" K-Hole gasped in disbelief, peering through the crack in the door) and the sting was over. Not the sting between her thighs at having been so nonchalantly violated by a man in uniform. An officer of the law. She wanted to tell on him immediately, but the only manager on duty was Karen, and she was already telling too much.

"It is definitely an ounce!" K-Hole's muffled voice cried in through the crack in the door. It was a half at best. The cop should have been more concerned about Tie-Dye's obvious defects in passing the rest off as anything but the end of his own stash. He was a fucking shitty dealer and yet another reason Iona was merely a victim of the people in her life. K-Hole's shitty weed, the security guard's terrorist I.D that didn't even work, the cop's narc nose in her business more than she needed any figure of authority to be. Fuck off already.

The cop wanted to know her name, and for the first time in Plato's Closet history - someone actually wanted the fake Vietnamese Buddha statue? Really? It had a crack in the bottom, but it was covered with a sticker that said it was made of ethically sourced organic non-GMO jade. Right on. This was clearly a lucky day for everyone except Iona, who was honestly still feeling a little shaken up by Sterling's gloves running down her body like he was allowed to defile her in the name of the law or something. His abuse of authority was actually really hot and had her bothered. And relieved when Karen hurried out the door to do something productive for the first time in her life.

"If you don't know me already, Officer Sterling, then you certainly will now." Iona replied nonchalantly for a girl on her last legs for the good life. The truth was she was desperate. There was a total cunt inside of her that wanted to tell him she was some big deal status symbol and he was never going to forget her now. That her daddy paid his rent and when he found out about the officer molesting his daughter for a dime bag, he was going to be angry. She wanted these things to mean something to the officer. Iona knew it didn't. She had only one thing for the older man, and that was running off her slut mouth. He wasn't going to forget her alright. "Because Iona McBelle is going to suck you off if you forget about this whole stint."

Stint of course being theft, possession of a controlled substance and identity fraud linked to terrorism. Hopefully he realized her generousity and wouldn't ask for anything more. Iona just wanted to get it over with so they could both go home. Her to her mansion and him to jerk off to this for the rest of his life. He could call into control and tell them he helped some hot bitch learn what her check engine light meant. It was her. She was the hot bitch. The check engine light had been blinking for miles and she still didn't know if it was important since the car was still drivable. "You don't want the paperwork."

 

[Traveler]

Her body language was certainly a contradiction, like her presence in this gaudy, curio-laden store. She started bold, her breaths reminding him of B-Movie starlets in the latest slasher flick, but her constricted pupils told him that she was anything but acting. High eyes went wide; hers were narrowed where the light hit those baby blues. Fight or flight. Or… in this case, fuck.

"Because Iona McBelle is going to suck you off if you forget about this whole stint."

‘What the fuck?’ He did a double take. Did she say ‘fuck you up’ or ‘suck you off? He replayed her voice in his head, the kind of voice that would do very well gasping ‘Oh yes, fuck me harder, officer!’ in a back-alley porn, and then snorted a laugh. “Okay…that would take more than five minutes and bribing an officer of the law with a solicitation like that is going on your list, Ms. ‘Iona McBelle’. If that is your real name…”

As he walked a few paces away he pointed to the hard-plastic chair, the back scratched up with parallel slices that looked like someone got bored with a razor blade. “Sit there,” he ordered, calling in her claim to be someone he ‘certainly’ would know. A brief exchange later, filled mostly with numbers and cop code words, he returned to the table adjacent to her and began rummaging through her purse. He pulled out the contents, laying legitimate items to one side and things that might be questionable with the pot bag, then felt up the lining as thoroughly as he had felt up her nubile body, probing for any hidey-holes she might have hid some paraphernalia in.

He started writing a few notes in his pad as he pointedly ignored her while paying complete attention to her. “Your city-funded Uber is on its way. Don’t worry though – I’m sure Daddy will take care of you like he always has.” He tucked his notepad in a front pocket and buttoned it while gazing over her body once more, not worrying about whether or not she cared if his looks were inappropriate or not. She’s say what she wanted to say, he’d tell them what they wanted to hear, and the courts would have to decide whether to believe a rich, entitled little criminal or someone who served the police department longer than she’d been out of diapers. “And you’re wrong about that – I enjoy the paperwork,” he said, smirking down at her.

Karen rushed back with her ‘What’d I miss?’ look, then took in the seated thief and the copy standing over her. God! She wanted to be the one sitting there, her head at the right height for him to wrap his hands around her hair and face fuck her into oblivion. “I got back as soon as I could,” she panted, “customers, you know,” as if that explained everything. “We’re ah…about to close up. Could I offer you something, Officer? A soda? Coffee?” Some long-neglected pussy that would be grateful to do anything you wanted for a chance to be in those cuffs?

“We’re done here,” Officer Sterling answered her, scooping up the illegal items and putting him in a bag marked ‘evidence’ he had produced from one of the myriads of leather pouches on his wide belt. “There’s a car coming – just have your man open the door for my partners when they arrive.” He meant Tie-Dye, of course, and elevated his DNA by referring to him as a ‘man’, but politeness to the public was protocol. Especially if there might be cameras about. “Ms. McBelle and I are both going to have a long night.”

 

[Retrojapan]

The police officer did a triple take, actually. His eyes, his attention and the twitch in his pants. Iona was waiting for the cop to realize this was the only time in his fucking life he was going to have lips like hers wrapped around his dick. The guy was so hot he probably had a huge one, too. Damn... Karen wasn't the only one looking up back-alley cop porn later that night.

Iona scoffed at his outright rejection, still betting that it was an offer he couldn't refuse. It had to be. She had never been refused before. Fucking asshole cop. What the hell did he mean 'that would take more than five minutes'?! The last time she sucked someone off - it lasted two seconds. The time before that, the guy actually came in his jeans (it was K-Hole. Nothing new). She was learning how to give oral on guys who blew their load before she could even do anything. Iona dreamed of the day she actually got used for something besides a witness to the sad state of premature ejaculation in American men. The long and short of it is that the officer had no business being so ungrateful for her solicitation.

"Okaaaaay there, Officer. Wouldn't want to undermine such an outstanding example of actually doing something about the crime around here... I mean, don't you have something better to do then arrest teenage girls for some weed? Don't you wanna bring something better back to HQ tonight? I thought you were in charge, but you're just dickin' around like everyone else." Iona let her attitude come out because she was hurt. She took it personally now. The officer wasn't unbuckling and presenting himself to her in a total abuse of authority - why!? He was supposed to do that. She was supposed to get away everything. She was nineteen years old, like, when the heck else was this supposed to work? She watched him go through her purse with the fine toothed comb of a fucking narc and was grateful she was off her coke bender for the last thirty six hours to try some new cleansing wheat grass and algae juice detox.

"No one likes paperwork." Iona shot back, narrowing her glare at him. Defeated. The older man was right. Daddy did always take care of her. She would like doing paperwork too if she really thought about it. The redhead was such a goddamned goody two shoes. All she wanted to do was organize the birth stone display she could see just outside the glass door. It had been ignored for months. No pun. The gems needed to be sorted, and not-free-for-all mixed together like they were. It was aggravating. Would probably take all twelve months to finish, but she would do it for free if Karen asked her to. End scene: the police officer shoving her life's work into an evidence bag while she thought about organizing birth stones with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her birth stone was peridot.

K-Hole's cro-magnon brain actually sprung to life at the mention of him being a man. Even Iona perked up in her plastic throne and raised a brow at the officer. That was such a blatant mockery that even Karen didn't get it. This moment marked the first time someone referred to K-Hole as anything other than 'idiot' or 'the guy that drank the three month old bong water at a party once for a dollar'. He promptly raised to the occasion. "Uh. There's like... A car here, or something."

"Wow. Fucking finally. Take me home already! This place is bunk." Iona stood up a little too fast and nearly bumped into the taller man, bouncing back a few steps and trying to straighten herself out but feeling like a flamingo with her arms behind her back and her perfect tits just barely brushing against the officer's arm.

 

[Traveler]

He'd expected Tie-Dye to follow up his ingenious observation with a Beavis and Butthead laugh, ‘Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh,’ and when he didn’t, Officer Sterling was a actually disappointed. The skinny tweaker with this pock-marked face fit the bill perfectly to have been a B&B fan, but perhaps he was too young and had grown up on ‘Jackass’ or some other Millenial/Gen-Z brain fuck. Sterling only knew of it because his college room mate was a fan; between that and X-Files marathons, studying in the dorms was out. He’d found himself in odd coffeeshops and quiet cafes, his books spread about like prostrate girlfriends while he studied law and its applications.

‘This place is bunk,’ the girl said, standing abruptly. At first the word choice had caught the officer’s eye, since that terminology must have become popular about the time she was learning to ride a bike, but then her sudden movement made him think she was going to try to head but him or some other stupid movement. Then she faltered, off-balanced and looking like she didn’t know how to stand with just her two feet and no arms to wave around.

He reached out and steadied her around the waist, stepping in to brace her between solid abs and a strong arm. It was when a little ‘wuff’ escaped her lips that he found himself looking right smack into those bright blue, defiantly frightened eyes, that his triple take took form. He could feel the give of her breasts against his bullet proof vest and thought that she might have been an interesting catch if he’d seen her on the club floor, but not here. Not in the middle of being arrested for enough charges to get her easily one to five in the girls’ dorm. A moment later he put his other arm on her to steady the tottering redhead and stepped back. Had her hands not been bound he would have checked his pockets for theft, but unless she had some other appendage cleverly hidden somewhere between that perfect ass and those tantalizing tits, he was safe.

“You’re not going home just yet,” he informed her. The sound of the front door opened and two sets of boots strode in, their clip-clip announcing that the calvary had arrived to pick up the wild one. Sterling moved Iona back to the chair, then pressed her butt back into its hard surface. “Stay until you’re told to get up, understand?” He smirked at her, glancing down at her pale perfect orbs and then back to her eyes. “Learn to obey. You’ll be much better off.” A quick squeeze of her shoulders and he stepped back to address the others.

Karen still stood there, one arm cradling the other elbow as she twiddled a strand of too-short hair in her fingertips, and mouthed ‘O-bey...’ while eyeing the motorcycle cop. She licked her top lip and squirmed slightly against her seams. Now that there were three, her fantasies were really going to hit a high point after baldy fell asleep tonight.

The two fresh-faced noobs who walked in looked like they had both graduated about the time Ione had, and one recognized her from her social media posts. His eyes widened. They were also trying too hard to look older; the newly allowed short beards on their scruffy faces looked like dirt on a toddler’s face, only not as complete. But they exchanged some information with Officer Sterling, who had Karen sign a form pressing charges, and then one took the purse and paraphernalia while the other reached for Ione’s arm and asked her to “Come with me”. He had seen the bikini photos and the drunk-assed party shots, and as he walked her out was having to adjust his stride to accommodate the extra growth that sprung up between this thighs.

“Officer Sterling,” Karen asked, not wanting the night to end too soon, “should I cum too? I mean, to the precinct to fill out forms, give an official state – ment,” she bit off the ‘t’s in her imitation of a sexual offer. Then smiled nervously up at him. Her hard nipples showing through her bra might have been sexy if they weren’t skewed, looking more like Alastor Moody’s eyes than nipples.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he said, extracting his arm from her clingy grasp. “If we need anything, we’ll call you.”

“You have my number, right?” She followed Sterling as he walked towards the door. “It’s 555-“

“Yes, I have it,” he went to reach for the door but she was blocking it, and as he looked out the window he saw one of the car cops put his hand on Ione’s head to help her get in the back seat without hitting her head. Hopefully there wasn’t any lingering vomit or piss on the hard bench seat. He turned back to the manager and moved her aside, then followed the others out. He’d trail them to the county jail and get Ms. McBelle signed into her ‘hotel’ for the night, and then…paperwork. Interesting paperwork, where he’d have to decide if he really did want to add ‘soliciting a police officer with sex’ to the charges levied against the mayor’s daughter.

 

[Retrojapan]

Iona was actually waiting fro K-Hole to bust out his nonessential Cornholio when the timing was right, but that was still yet to be seen. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum arrived on cue to make Karen's Fruit of the Loom snatch disappear right into her dirty moose hoof. There she goes - ssschlep! Her mom jeans were literally two minutes away from telling everyone involved that it was all a set up, the maryjane was hers, and poor Iona McBelle was indeed the victim she made herself out to be. It would have been the output Iona needed to continue being such a spoiled bitch.

Still, Karen was ready to confess to whatever the police needed to hear for an apprehension. It was going to be a hot one, boys. trumilf_x69 @hotmail.com nasty added you on MSN kind of nasty. They were not going to be able to handle her creaming wanton body, going dead like a starfish during sex while thinking about the ShamWow guy. Her favourite. Oh fuck yes.

Iona only knew about all the bunk references because she grew up privileged, but didn't know anything about life besides what she consumed in culture instead. She memorized the niche cult classics, pretending to like the Rocky Horror Picture Show like everyone else did. Napoleon Dynamite fucking sucked. She listened to a lot of music. She used to read a lot. The girl caught every reference from every period, but now she could barely finish a book. She wanted to live now. She knew all the tropes and cliches, but wore her heart on her sleeve anyways because she didn't know better. Nothing bad had ever happened to her. Nothing good had, either. Which was worse? She learned a script to get by and play the part of a spoiled princess because that's what the damsel's did in movies to be saved. Right? No one was saving her no matter how low she sunk; stealing dildos and body oil for fun. No one saw her for the screaming damsel in distress she was. Who steals a book on Kundalini chakra's aligning for orgasmic tantric sex? At nineteen?

Iona - falling back into the plastic chair with a splat and a panty shot for the officer should he have noticed. The young redhead huffed at the cop telling her to obey like it was in her best interest or something. Hah! Good one. Smart guy. There was Karen mouthing the word "obey" with her cigarette creased mouth flaps. K-Hole watching Karen, contemplating comedic timing, but bewitched by Alastor Moody himself transfiguring on the crotchrider's chest. He was a muggle so it was lost on him. Iona got it, though, and it was pretty fucked up. Either way, K-Hole knew the number Karen had given the hot cop was her landline and not Plato's Closet. Cornholio!

Iona strut her stuff to the car like she was on a Victoria's Secret runway because it seemed more triumphant than the reality of what she was actually going down for. She was, of course, heavy footed in combat boots and very much still a busty flamingo getting into the backseat (no lingering vomit or piss - thank you) with the help of Officer Sterling minding her princess crown head. From the backseat, she pictured herself more sultry and defiant as Rose from the Titanic in that scene where hers and Jack's worlds collide, but she's too busy unimpressed and judging the unsinkable shitbrick as if foreshadowing a bad ending. Iona was dignified. She was gonna be dramatic and mysterious to him because she was like that. Noir femme fatale like. "Well. Until we meet again, Officer.... You'll regret this for sure. This isn't the last you've seen of me."

The two escorting officers were nothing short of the jizzsocks of actual men. They were both fighting over which radio station she would rather have soundtrack her to jail, all while making candid, casual reference to her pubic hair if only because she was a redhead. One of them was really into telling her how much he liked redheads. The other told her he knew that the carpets matched the drapes. The other one agreed. Iona frowned and wished it was the other cop. The only one who didn't follow the script.

 

[Traveler]

8 months later…

Officer Anthony Sterling, ‘Tony’ to his friends, scanned the surface streets as he reassured his buddy on the helmet mic. “Yeah we got it; limo, strippers, booze, coeds, you name it. Anything that’s legal that you want, you’re gonna get, before you lock yourself up with that wedding ring, buddy. It’ll be a night to remember.”

He rode past a ritzy strip mall and saw the glowing sign for Plato’s Closet flicker, then dim. The place was closing. He wondered if Karen had sold many more of her personal massagers, or if she had stopped hoping he would call her for more information. The bitch in dispatch had her fun with the manger, though; about the fifth time the woman stopped by, the department’s own Monster’s Inc. Roz leaned over the counter on one elbow, slid her cat-frame glasses to the tip of her nose, and said with a voice that would make a chain saw proud, “Honey, you’re not his type.” She inspected her nails, one ear listening for the next incoming call, and other taking maniacal pleasure in hearing the Kate Plus 8 lookalike stutter.

“W-what do you mean?” she smiled nervously and flashed porcelain teeth covering cigarette stained molars. “I’m not her to hit on him,” she gasped, her platform sandals twisting on the linoleum floor. “I’m here because of those crimes that woman committed in my store,”

Nadine waved her off with a hand, “Honey, you ain’t got the right equipment to even get him started,” she glanced over the counter and looked the woman up and down, taking in the halter top that was too tight for a woman her shape and the polyester skirt, and shook her head. “Nope. Not unless you got a good doctor tucked something special up on the hoo-hah…” she let it trail off as if suggesting that a third leg might make her a contender.

‘Yeah,’ thought Sterling as he twisted the throttle and headed to drop off his bike, ‘I’m still trying to live that one down.’ And then Nadine had started a goddamn poll to see who could ‘Fix the Sterling’, though it was against every policy in the book and he was definitely not a homo. Had no problem with them, but wasn’t a card-carrying member of the boy’s club. ‘Fuck you, Nadine,’ he snarled. He never shit in his own back-yard. Suddenly all the hottest dispatchers, lady cops, and detectives seemed like they were wanting in on the game and hankering for field time. To say it made work harder was like saying the Titanic had been a minor boating accident.

The helluvit was, someone had filed against him for saying ‘no’. Claimed he was discriminating against them because he was supposedly fucking everyone else in the precinct but them, and it was because she was a white chick from the Midwest, and everyone else was some exotic form of not-white. It didn’t matter that one, he wasn’t fucking anyone in the precinct (that shitting in the back-yard thing), and two, he’d had plenty of white bread vanilla loving partners. Her EEO attorneys wanted him to prove that she wasn’t being discriminated against, and so every woman in the office wound up being questioned. It raised a few eyebrows in the department, and probably cost him that promotion, but ‘Fuck you, Nadine’. It was a good joke wasn’t it? And Karen had been the catalyst. ‘Fuck you too, Karen.’ But not literally.

The Rocket Club was still the hottest legit club in the city; a place where you could catch a good striptease, eat a great meal on the balcony, or grind against hot, young, and eager women on the dance floor who didn’t care who you were as long as you were juicing them up and didn’t mind a back alley slam-bam before the night was done. It wasn’t Sterling’s venue of choice but Harry had wanted one last fling before marrying his Lutheran fiancée, and this was the one place where he and the rest of the poker club could get in without having to wait in line for some buck-toothed Mr. T to tell them whether or not they were the right look for the DJ’s mix. Sterling didn’t have trouble with getting in, but Joe and Bruce might have given the bouncer pause. Unless, of course, they pretended to be a gay couple. That got you in almost any door in the city. Still, they were a good poker table full of guys who had been there for each other for the last eight years, and that had to amount to something.

Sterling showered and dressed in a pair of jeans over his boots, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, his side-kick and cuffs (because cop), and a leather jacket he would leave in the car. Because he wasn’t drinking, he was the designated driver. Because he was the only one who had to follow the law, this had defaulted to his normal role unless he was home. It was too dangerous to drink and carry.

Harry’s clean-shaven John-Boy face was flushed as he checked his polo shirt collar and flattened his cowlick in the car mirror for the hundredth time. In the back seat of Sterling’s Tahoe Joe and Bruce were bickering about who had the thickest beard, and whether women would go for a taller version (Joe) or the ‘fun sized version’ (Bruce) of their mirror images. They weren’t related, but you would believe it if they told you they were.

“Hey,” Sterling called as the argument over facial masculinity escalated, “If you don’t settle down back there I’m pulling the car over.”

Bruce chuckled and played along. “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Fucking assholes,” Sterling muttered, but he smiled in the rear view mirror at the crew. Good guys, all of them. The bearded dwarf brothers were already dads, with Soccer Moms at home watching the latest home renovation shows while walking around with yoga pants and working on their Instagram followings. Now Harry, who was surprisingly not an accountant but could play one on T.V., was getting married to his hot secretary (that wasn’t going to last, ten to one), leaving Sterling their bachelor extraordinaire. Pretty soon they’d be setting him up with their wives’ cousin’s best friend’s divorced mother of three, and he wasn’t going to have any of that shit. Nope. He didn’t want someone else’s throw away relationship and custody battles marring up his perfect life.

The club was packed tighter than… well, it was packed. Sweaty college kids and ‘woke’ deodorant-avoidant hipsters mixed with the metro-quasi-don’t label me-sexuals, tired 20-year-old coke heads and debutants who had a million plus followers on the social media scene and no RL friends. It was a primordial soup of hormones and moaning whores, all gyrating to the flashing beat of the DJ’s latest home-grown sounds. The four made their way to the terrace where a strange mix of tuxedoed waiters and topless waitresses led them to their rail-view table where they could watch the wildlife below.

After several attempts at yelling back and forth to each other the three musketeers finally stopped trying to talk over the music and communicated in hand gestures and nodding, ordering drinks they didn’t recognize and over-priced steaks to celebrate getting their pal Harry laid and wasted before he brought home whatever little one-night-stand gift his partner (or partners) of choice for the event deigned to gift him and the lucky Mrs. Harry with, to start their lives together as man and wife.

 

[Retrojapan]

Life wasn't so generous to Iona McBelle following her arrest at Plato's Closet that fated day. The last time she saw him, Iona was sure she stared the officer down as Rose did Jack when letting him go into the ocean. Even though there was totally room for him. Iona let a lot of things go that day; her car, daddy's credit card, her social media account (Instagram status update: super original and quirky picture of Birkenstock sandal feet actually taken from the detention center but tagged at some pretentious yoga retreat where they practiced mindful meditation in the form of silence for six days a week while only eating lentils. The truth was she was doing the same thing in jail: Hey losers! Just checking in while Mercury's still in retrograde to say that I am going on a little ~hiatus~ getaway adventure to do some soul searching in Bali like everyone else my age. See you when I get back. - ImcB). The Bali dream wasn't far off for Iona, though. She was achieving her own state of nirvana from her community prison stint totaling a grand stay of two months street cred before daddy was bailing her out and shipping her off to St. Catherine's. Eight months had passed and Iona was standing in line at The Rocket Club.

Cue tired 20-year-old coke heads and debutantes who had a million plus followers on the social media scene and no RL friends. Otherwise known as the Scooby Gang, the epitome aesthetic of Generation Z - including the regular STD exams (K-Hole proclaiming proudly while they're waiting in line, "Warts were cleared! Ready to get my dick wet. Heh heh heh."). The trio had collectively decided to come out and stare at their phones together in a public space for a change, using fake ID's sponsored by another domestic terrorist organization in order to get into the strip club. It was a big day for celebrating Iona's birthday and her successful shipment off to boarding school where she had no choice but to get straight A's. It was her thing. School was where she actually succeeded and did well for a change. Where she had a boyfriend. He was there too. They bonded over being too fucked up to be at a Catholic boarding school, but mostly fought over the fact that Felix was homosexual. Everyone knew about it, but pretended he was straight because his preacher father was the college's president. They were dating because he took good pictures for Instagram and she needed coke. He needed her to cover up for his Grindr hook ups. No one wanted the president's son's preference for another sort of father figure to get out. Iona was approximately thirty minutes away from breaking up with him and making a huge scene over it.

That is when Anthony Sterling would see Iona again. It would be her twentieth birthday and she is taking a break from reality with all of her favourite vices - coke, alcohol, another ID she had to strip for through a window for the security guard (so that she could get into a strip club), and drama. Quality entertainment. That's what happens when you get people in a small room together doing too much coke for days. Ask Fleetwood Mac.

K-Hole asking "Does the clitoris really serve a function though? Why hasn't anyone told me about it then?" while they piled into Felix's Hummer. Driving around without a registration or a proper license. Getting an eight ball. Rolling into the strip club like they were the only ones under twenty. They were. Iona dressed like some washed up Hollywood starlet - literally wearing a tiara on her head, red lipstick and a slinky $3,000 Chanel black mini dress with platform wedges, hair styled in her usual coiffed waves. She thinks she looks like Marilyn Monroe or something. She is completely intoxicated and threatening to go home with a guy that looks four times her age. The Pillsbury dough manboy was half dragging her shoulder bag before she changed her mind about his little pea shoot. Her boyfriend Felix is actually crying, asking Iona why she always has to break up with him in front of naked people (long story). Her blues eyes spot the officer in his civilian clothes immediately. Triggered. She doesn't even see anyone else - Kill Bill siren scene as she shakes away the old fucker's grabby hands and takes off like the dramatic scene she wanted it to be.

"You! Ruined my life!!" The redhead shoved Humpty Dumpty and stomped across the bar towards Officer Sterling, that fucking asshole, adjusting her birthday princess crown as she did. Above all making sure she made an entrance.

 

[Traveler]

Harry was getting a lap dance from a platinum wig who looked too dry and bored to be enjoying it as much as he was, but he had a wad of cash and maybe she’d suck him off in the storage room by the kitchens; she needed a new air condition and five minutes that could be washed off with a little Listerine was a small price to pay. Besides, he was so primed that he would probably cum before he’d gotten more than the tip past her lips. Easy money.

“Oh, I dunno,” Joe was arguing with Bruce as they rated the Wig and Tit’s dance techniques, “I’d give her a six, just for the physical contact.” He brought his lips to the straw in his adult ice smoothie and drew in another brain-freeze gulp.

“Now see, that contact is why I’d rate her a four,” Bruce illustrated by spreading four fingers in the air. Then he looked at them to confirm that it was four fingers in the air, and not three. Pick three, my Lord!

“The whole purpose,” he espoused, “for a lap dance is the anticipation. The close, but no touchy-touchy.” He rested his head on his other fist and smiled at the show, the little gap between the woman’s panty and her crotch revealing that she was a landing strip kind of girl, and not a smooth ride. His cock twitched as he wondered whether or not his own home-bound-cootch would consider a little creative bush management in the down below.

Sterling had excused himself to get another Coke. Just Coke, no rum, no powder, the bubbly soda kind, he had to repeat himself a few times before he finally conveyed his message to the bar tender by pointing and shaking his head until a can of Coke was produced from a counter fridge somewhere, and the bartender let him pop his own top, thank you very much. The officer off duty turned as he took a sip of the sharp coldness and locked eyes with a barracuda. Not the car, the fish. It was wobbling towards him, heels high and clompy, eyes focused like a Lasik machine, and tiara slightly off-kilter.

‘Oh my fucking God,’ thought Sterling, just as the voice he thought he’d forgotten cut through the din of bass and techno-rap. Yeah, he wasn’t going to get to finish his drink, not with the missile coming in fast and low and possibly with a right hook in mind, and her eyes indicated that she was also snorting or shooting, with just a little bit of crazy mixed in. Make that a lot of crazy mixed in.

He set the soda on the counter behind him, ruined, now that it had left his attention, and turned around in time to catch the flailing psycho-perp’s wrists and pull one arm over her head so he could twirl her around and hold her against his chest. Her own arms were her straight jacket. He moved his head to avoid that head butt thing that women liked to do when they weren’t kicking you in the junk and shout-whispered in her ear “Isn’t this fucking familiar, Ms. McBelle? How did you find me?” She smelled like expensive shampoo and cheap tequila, and that sick dirty sock smell of someone who’d been hanging around opiate users. Probably left over from her grandpa lover, but strangely scented on a woman who had no reason to be in a place like this, looking like her. He imagined the possible headlines in the morning “Strung out Mayor’s Daughter Found Naked and Deceased Behind Popular Night Club”.

‘Shit, not tonight, CNN.’ “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

[Retrojapan]

In every other universe this was the shit Iona's nineties romcom dreams were made of. Harry getting a lap dance from the wig drunk off Listerine. Joe and Bruce like Chandler and Joey in the background - don't skimp the canned laughter at their banter. Pan the camera, the scene is set - Sterling at the bar like some heart throb leading actor on cue with Iona still Kill Bill in theory but sloppy barracuda in action. Tiara on proper now, heels clompy and very high considering how low she was sinking, and a lot of crazy mixed in. What gave it away? Guilty as charged.

The man twirled Iona around like a fucking fairy tale and basically won her wedding dress white heart right there in their straight jacket embrace. It could have been so much more romantic had it not been for the redhead's genuine distaste for the handsome man playing her cliches like some kind of hustler. She still had a bone to pick with the officer. She also had a reputation to live up to - her femme fatale close up, telling Officer Sterling that he would see her again just as she is being whisked off to jail.

She was drunk as fuck and smelled like it too, but it was gone the second his shout-whisper did come as a shout, still a whisper though, against her skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down her spine. She had never felt more sober in her life. She was also back to chest with the older man as if she wasn't wearing the skimpiest vintage Coco Chanel cocktail dress she could find. Everything had to be extra but tasteful. She suddenly became aware of everything going on around them as if she had to reinstate the scene just to reset the mood from romcom to 18A drama, starting with the disco ball above them.

It was reflecting onto the walls and the floor but mostly illuminating Iona's pale skin to make her nothing short of a glowing angel in a dark place. He was close enough now to see she had some freckles across her shoulders and dusted across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Unlike most skanks her age, she actually didn't wear make up at all aside from the red lipstick. She could feel the bass through the floor and inside her rib cage. Sterling wasn't wearing a vest this time and Iona was very aware of how his chest felt against her back, almost thinking about what could have happened, but the sound of the music combined with the sound of his voice against her was just too real.

Iona was a dreamer, a hopeless romantic and a cokehead which is why the obvious jump to being a realist shouldn't surprise anyone. In reality, the young redhead wasn't even half as happy as her photos on Instagram. Not even close. Iona had checked out years ago; disassociated, coping. She was doing coke with Shaggy and Fred on her birthday only to keep face. Inside she was Rose the night she decides to jump off the deck of the Titanic. It was her twentieth birthday and she was face to face with the only person who ever turned her down. Or made her smarten the fuck up. The only familiar feeling was the twitch in her stomach that liked it when she felt powerless and under someone's control. It meant someone gave a fuck for once.

"Celebrating my birthday. Tying up some loose ends." Iona replied, purposely vague and hopefully mysterious. She didn't know why she was trying to be so coy and sultry in the middle of a strip club. Or why she didn't try to get out of the straight jacket. His body felt strong and hard against hers. How the hell did he twirl her around like that? She suddenly felt like a woman for the first time in her life. This was the script she didn't know anything about. It excited her.

There at The Rocket Club where chlamydia sounded like a flower but it most certainly wasn't. The DJ was playing a medley of top forty garbage. K-Hole was trying to find the coke he tucked away in his pocket, but it was already gone. Felix in the Hummer with aforementioned coke and the father figure of his dreams, who was actually just the creepy old guy hired by the joint to make sure no condoms were clogging the urinals. He looked like Beetlejuice and he was free to suck Felix off for a line. Join the club. Sterling smelled of leather and some spicy cologne that no men her age appreciated yet. She did. It made her swoon. The disco ball was tacky, but she wouldn't have changed a thing.

"Now what are you doing here, officer? Are you undercover?"

 

[Traveler]

Joe and Bruce were still ruminating over the stripping skills of Wig Girl like Joey and Chandler studying their duck. What they did not know was that the stripper grinding on Harry’s whiskey-dick was more likely to get action than either of them were. She was packing easily twice the Tranny length of his Vienna Sausage manhood, and had a penchant for accountant porn; hence the lap dance and the beginning of a strange relationship that would follow poor groom-to-be throughout the remainder of this tale. But that is for another scene – cut back to our protagonists, back to front more like Jack and Rose than either of them realized.

A birthday confession. ‘Celebrating’, like the Musketeers he had escorted to the pot-filled, writhing cesspool of sex and drugs and momentary existential numbing, that people sought out when their lives were so fucking boring that only an artificially-induced jolt of canned happiness would do. “Well, happy birthday, Princess Ione,” he tightened his grip around her forearms and with the other hand gave her a quick but very thorough pat-down. No weapons, no drugs, nothing hidden under the thin fabric of her over-priced Coco Chanel fuck-me-now dress, except skin and maybe another of those Victoria Secret scraps of silk people spent $25 bucks on to have eventually ripped off their bodies. If they were lucky. His hand flattened against the flat span of her abdomen and warmed her flesh, testing her body against his. With no gloves to separate him from her, there was only a thin, micrometer barrier between flesh and flesh; heat and heat. And she felt hot.

If she wasn’t some under-aged Mayor’s daughter strung out on homebrew Breaking Bad crap he might have considered it, but though she was old enough to bed there was no fucking way in the world that the girl-woman he’d arrested nearly eight months ago was going to wind up joined at the hip with him that night. Especially high. And drunk.

“You’re too young to be here,” he muttered as he checked out her Heidi freckles and wondered what her skin would look like under the natural glow of the sun, instead of under the fluorescent lights of Plato’s Closet or the disco-ball kaleidoscope sprinkling across her body.

While he was lost in the moment of his Swiss Alps daydream, Annie in a black dress asked him if he was undercover. Thanks, thanks for that. Et tu, Brute? Had that sexual harassment charge filed (for not having sex) not been filed, then yes, perhaps he would be undercover now. A detective, finally, after years of paying his dues and dealing with high, drunk out of their minds teeny-boppers with too much money. But no…no he was not undercover, thank you very much. Not now, perhaps never. Should have fucked the dispatcher and everyone else who asked; equal opportunity for all, even those who only wanted another notch in their bedposts.

His bedposts were iron; no notches needed, just a few nice spots to attach the cuffs and rope, thank you very much. Sterling was about to tell her she needed to go home when Bruce looked over and spotted their favorite wingman with a chick too hot to be dancing for free.

“Hey, ‘Tone!” His voice carried over the house mix of Snoop-Dog and Beyonce’s voices in the latest dance ballad hip-hop beat. The DJ saw themselves as the next big thing; ‘Androgynous music magic coming at ya live from downtown!’ The larger of the Friends twins held up a twenty, waving it as his taller half and repeating his mating call. “TONE! Bring that hottie over! Friends share!”

Harry was being led by the hand by Platinum to a dark recess to receive the best fellatio he would experience in life. Bruce and Joe were eyeing the Jessica Rabbit wet dream in their buddy’s arms, and Sterling was feeling each breath she took in the soft swell of her stomach where his hand rested mere inches from her honey pot. It was getting realer by the minute as work life and personal life set themselves on a crash course alignment designed to turn everyone’s life upside down. And for a man who liked things ‘just so’, that was next to unacceptable. Almost as unacceptable as the way he was hardening against her, trashed and high as she was. Or maybe because of it. But one thing he knew for certain – she wasn’t leaving here in the same car she arrived in.

 

[Retrojapan]

Snoop Dog and Beyonce don't even have a song together, but the mood was set. The vibe was Billie Eillish meets Studio 54. It was the kind of leading female role for Cameron Diaz after The Sweetest Thing came out, but Iona was doing a pretty good job keeping up. The Titanic references likening to the classic foreshadow of unsinkable ships being sinkable following "you jump, I jump" character development and an iconic sweaty hand in the window. That was the money shot in 1997, though. Still gets people going to see that. Hard to believe this is anything different. Arrest me like one of your bad girls, officer.

Birthday pat down? In a strip club? From an actual cop? Hell yeah she took those birthday bumps. It was the first bump all night that made her feel something. Maybe she was just conditioned to feel a thrill whenever Sterling gave her body a frisk. She didn't know if the excitement she felt was the coke, the fact that the DJ was finally playing the good shit, or if she just secretly wished she actually had contraband on her person for him to find and really fuck her up. Again. It was exciting because she had nothing on her for once, and things were still going to get fucked up.

The only unwrapped birthday gift left was the hardon she felt after his civilian-on-duty security clearance check. He would have quickly discovered she had done all the drugs already - duh. He probably just needed to be sure, though. The conclusion being he somehow knew everything already. Even the stuff she didn't tell him. The coke was a birthday present from Felix, but she gave it to K-Hole (who had it stolen back from Felix) to keep (because she wasn't wearing a bra this time, actually). The two coked out bros were fighting over the lack of coke in the parking lot. In their jacked out state having literally pulled the siding off the Hummer, screaming ("Where's the coke! Bro?" "Bro! Where's the coke?"), and resembling the DARE ad begging kids not to ever do drugs because you might end up like Felix and K-Hole. All with Beetlejuice getting the hell outta dodge like anyone with the last of the coke in their pocket would, walking suspiciously through the parking lot and off the job. Nicely done. Iona still inside the strip club, young and sweet, with a few one liners left to quip.

The pat down concluded his worst fears, no doubt. The over-priced Coco Chanel fuck-me-now dress was, in fact, almost not even vintage at all. It was from the ninety-five collection, and everyone knows vintage has to be at least twenty five expired, preferably double that for the likes on Instagram. The little black dress was still five years older than Iona herself, but that quarter of a century was shamelessly bordering on relevant. The cop knew his shit, obviously. The redhead was barely vintage. Iona was going to have to watch out for him. If Sterling only knew she was actually Pretty in Pink strung out on Breakfast at Tiffany's. Still the Mayor's under-aged daughter, though. His hand flattened across her midriff and she swore the same thought process: totally under-aged, but still old enough to fuck. Sweet Heidi freckles but little orphan Annie in a little slut dress. Too young to be at The Rocket Club... Obviously at The Rocket Club - Christina Swan, age 21. Take two.

"Find what you're looking for?" The birthday girl asked cheekily, wanting to know so she could remember to have it on her at all times. Karen was really rubbing off on her and Iona didn't even wear thick seams. She was too young to do any of the things she wanted to do, so why was the officer checking her out and muttering the well-known "you're too young to be here" prayer for both of them? Emphasis on the part where he doesn't go home with a twenty year old dancing queen. Maybe too young for gallivanting strip clubs looking for a mystery, but not too young for a Scooby Snack. If the officer had a lead, she was going to take it down. Speaking of take downs...

Iona's face snapped over to the voice carrying through the crowd, eyeing Joey and Chandler for the comic relief that they were. The redhead slowly looked back at Sterling with the look every man knows women have. The crazy fucking bitch eyes look. The scene was set up perfectly for revenge. She didn't serve two months in community prison so that she could run into hot cop again and not at least give an honest tribute to the photo op she wanted. She was not about to pass on this opportunity to be someone's femme fatale. Or whoever was on the Harlequin this month (Oh? It was a cop? No shit!). Iona was tired of being so underappreciated by K-Hole and Felix for the cult classic based disasters she brought to the men in her life. Including Sterling. Fuck his life now that he was cast in her script.

"These your friends? 'Tone?" She was already making a beeline for the next scene.

 

[Traveler]

Like a poorly-written tragicomedy, his perfect world was beginning to swirl down the bowl, and he found himself feeling like a fireman trying to put back all the shit that had just shot out of his hose once he realized it was gasoline and not water he was spraying everywhere. He’d lost his grip on the vamp and she was now headed toward the innocent bystanders, her horror-show ‘I’ve got you now’ eyes trained on the twinsies. Then the music switched again, and the mood went from Dancing Queen to Chaos in a Porcelain Bowl.

‘Fuck.’

Bruce and Joe’s eyes widened at Ione’s approach. She was actually walking over. To them! She’d left the token stud-muffin and was walking over to two normal Joes (and a Bruce) with like she might eat them alive. The good kind of eating. The kind that had you wanting a hot jelly donut with some powdered sugar on the side.

She might have been thinking of the kind that said: ‘I’ll suck you off and then bite it off, you asshole,’ but the twins weren’t focused on the latter part. Their brains stopped at the word ‘you’.

A moment’s hesitation was all it took for her to stumble halfway between Sterling and the boys. He caught up quickly, but not before the damned fools started interacting with the femme fatale.

Joe stood up and offered a handshake. A goddamned handshake, like he was at a business meeting! Maybe he was…”Hey boo-ful,” he grinned with his cocktail laden lips, too numb to appreciate being kissed even if she was to offer. “I’m Joe.”

“She doesn’t care what your name is,” Bruce countered, then turned to the vixen. “So…you working or playing?”

“Neither.” Sterling fell in behind the perp and put a hand on the small of her back. “You’re ordering an Uber – where’s Harry? –“ he did a quick double-take. The guest of honor was long gone. “Fuck…you two find him and get home. We,” he indicated himself and the red wet dream, “are leaving.”

“You can’t leave now!” Joe pointed to his still full drink. “We’re jus’ starting!”

“You’re too drunk to have any fun.” Sterling moved a full glass sprouting an umbrella out of Ione’s reach. What the fuck happened to Harry?

As if on cue, the man in question came out of a dark shadow, pocketing something that looked suspiciously like a business card, and saw the little gathering at his table. He was flushed but looking happy, like a man who had just had the best blow of his life and lived to tell about it. The little jiggle in his leg might have indicated that a little extra happened, but that wasn’t a question anyone was going to ask the man of the hour.

“Heeeeeyyyyy…” he said, imitating the Fonz like it was 1975. “Who is this hot stuff?” He looked Ione over like she was next on his menu, though for a guy that looked like Captain America pre-treatment, his ego was bigger than most other parts of his body. “Hey baby, I’m getting married. Want to help me celebrate?”

“No one is helping anyone celebrate anything,” said Sterling, feeling like the Kindergarten Cop loosing control of his class of five-year-olds. “I’m giving her a ride and you three are going home.”

“Why can’t we all go together?” Harry asked, eying the hot topic’s nipples through her dress. “I’ll even sit in back.” With her. With those lips and those hands and those legs… “It is my party, after all.”

 

[Retrojapan]

Slow motion. It’s just a staggering tiara making its way haphazardly to the two normal Joes (and a Bruce) as if compelled by an unknown force. The force was her intoxication combined with natural curiousity for investigating character depth. And who was she kidding - ammo. Really though, who the hell was the idiot offering a handshake at a strip club? Excuse me.

Oh, it was Joe. Of course he would offer a handshake. He was that kind of person. Everyone has a friend that doesn't get the whole social interaction charade. Joe was Sterling's. Iona accepted his hand with a firm grip because she was overcompensating for her twenty years of age. If it was anything less than grappling then she would be the kid they all thought she was. Squeezing twice for good measure. She was young, but she watched enough movies to know a lot, obviously. She was naturally suspicious of every sort of character. Especially authority figures. Who the fuck wants to be a police officer? The redhead was gonna figure him out and serve it up hot like a jelly donut with some powdered sugar. Her fake smile. Her bottled charm. Her Oscar performance. "Well hello, Joe."

Fuck no she was going to tell any of these plebs her name. Or her reason for being at The Rocket Club in the first place. Maybe she was there to see the nipple tassels. Maybe she was there for the hors d'oeuvres. Iona was femme fatale and not about to give away too much information, though her birthday tiara glimmered obviously in the disco ball lights. Yeah, she better watch out for Bruce. He was pushy. Definitely trying to get a lap dance. The tiara was supposed to add class and they all thought she was a stripper. What the fuck. Maybe they were too old to get it. Sterling's hand on the small of her back like the mute button he wanted it to be.

She looked at him, not feigning the shock on her red lipped face. The officer was clearly trying to take her home to fulfill some sick fantasy. Hers wasn't sick. It was tasteful. That fucking dog. They were all dogs. Harry was even more so with the business card. He looked guilty as fuck and wasn't even trying to hide it. None of them were trying to hide anything. It was something she wasn't used to. She was twenty years old. Everyone she knew was trying to be something they weren't. She was doing it too. Goddammit. There she was - standing in the middle of a strip club trying to get a scene off her chest. It involved telling Sterling how much she resented him for busting her with those three inch dildos that were made of rose quartz because that was supposed to attract love into her life. Holy fuck? Did she go down for six inches so that she could go down for... suddenly Iona was remembering the older man's hard-on against her back and it felt a little personal. It felt a little new age witch girl summons impenetrable cop that can't be tied down. It was all because of the fucking dildos.

It must have been more than that for the look on Sterling's face as he struggled to reign the situation back under his control. He was mental to think he stood a chance against a bunch of five year-olds. Including Iona. She could totally sink to that level. She could fuck shit up with this Harry guy eyeing her nipples for a reply to his question. If it was any other revenge plot she would totally take this as the opportunity for it. Harry was the weakest link in Sterling's friends, and if she wanted to go in for the jugular, she could have.

But she didn't. No. That would be giving in too quickly. That would be too expected. Not good enough. Not a cliffhanger. Not a good move. Iona had better things on her mind. Things that added to the character dynamics and the tension between hers and Sterling's character. They had enough back story now that it was finally getting to the good part.

"Sorry Harry. As much as I would love to catch an Uber with all of you tonight... I'm going home with Sterling." Iona turned, smiling genuinely at Sterling with the situational gun she just loaded. The one that shot expectation, pressure and disappointment to all of his friends (and their friends) (and his work too hopefully) (and the harassment case) that he didn't take a twenty year old drunk birthday girl home so what the fuck was his problem. It was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don't's. She wondered what his next move would be.

 

[Traveler]

She shook Joe’s hand like Sharon Stone crossing her legs, revealing a strong grip and soft hands that would give Joe’s phalanges a bit of thrill to share with his dick later. This is the hand that was gripped by the hand that I’m imagining gripping me now, kind of sharing. Sorry Soccer Mom, the yoga pants aren’t doing it for me tonight.

Sterling couldn’t believe her gumption at greeting his friends like she was hosting a cocktail party. Four cocks, one tail, and none of it a good idea in a 3-D environment, especially when she was drunk and probably high, and he’d arrested her not too long ago. Bruce was a paramedic for crap’s sake, Joe a tax attorney, and Harry (not accountant) a pharmacist. Four junior high buddies who sat around rolling dice as kids, now still playing a game of dice, but this time the siren was real, and if they weren’t careful, she’d turn Medusa on them and reduce all their Hit Points down to negative one.

All this passed by him as impenetrably as voices heard from under water. Who the fuck did they think they were, anyway, hitting on a girl-woman when two of them were already hitched and the third was fast on his way. Sure, a lap dance (it was just a dance, right?) and some gratuitous lookie-loos were to be expected, but the way Harry’s eyes were practically raping her through that thin excuse of a dress had Sterling feeling like someone at the church pot luck was about to steal the last piece of pie off his plate. This was almost as bad as the time Bruce’s mom thought that making them all gluten-free, sugar-free ‘cupcakes’ was a good idea for their all-night sessions as a kids, or when Joe’s wife tried to sit in on a hand of Texas Hold ‘Em and didn’t know the rules or allow any cigars at the table but smoked her menthols non-stop. It totally ruined their male-bonding vibe, and here was this kid trying to cut in on his.

“…I’m going home with Sterling.”

Three groans of disappointment rang across the table. Disappointment and envy, perhaps. One, she said ‘no’ to the lap dance and the blow job. Two, she knew their buddy’s name, so obviously they were acquainted. Three, she was a hot nubile thing with a touch of class and just enough bitchy slut-girl to be a wild ride behind closed doors. And four, if there was a four, Sterling’s expression at her words was a priceless moment that they all wished they had on film. No one surprised their badge-carrying friend, but Jessica Rabbit certainly had.

Joe leaned over to Bruce and whispered, “Did you know he had a girlfriend?” Bruce’s headshake was accompanied by the thought that this was going to be the fifth of Sterling’s girlfriends he’d fantasized about while fucking his wife. How’d the nerd in their D&D party grow up to be the dragon slayer?

“Sure,” Harry countered, his pharmacist brain putting together a new prescription for the night, “go home with him, but after he gives us a ride to our homes, designated driver,” he shot this one back at his leather-clad buddy, trying his best to invoke as much shame as possible that their ‘protector’ for his night of revelry was going to regulate it all to some college kid with an Uber sticker on his window. “If something happens to me before tomorrow’s wedding you’ll have to explain to Moana why you sent me home in an Uber instead of driving me…” There it was, groomsman guilt splayed across the table like a Royal Flush. No glitter, just tulle and lace from the next day’s grand event.

Sterling’s hand wrapped around the far side of her waist, his fingers tightening like a constricting Boa. “Bruce, give me your bandana.”

Bruce, who had been staring at Ione’s tits, heard his name and rejoined reality, “What?”

“In your left back pocket. You always carry one, give it to me,” Sterling’s hand extended and he used the same two finger (middle and ring) pull he’d used to tell Ione to get up eight months ago.

As he handed over the red bandana, because firemen never knew when they’d need it to block the smoke, he knew the tables were shifting. Just like when Sterling rolled the dice at fourteen and went from chess jockey to quarterback, and thrust their entire D20 team into the unlikely high school clique of popular-by-proxy, he had something planned. Damned if that cop/fireman dichotomy didn’t play to his favor every time.

“You don’t want her to know where you live,” Sterling told his personal Scooby Gang as he removed his hand from Ione’s back long enough to wrap the bandana around itself and stepped behind the red bombshell, who was certainly a few sheets to the wind if she thought she was going home with him. “So if I’m driving you lot home, she’s wearing a blindfold.” He leaned in closer to her $300/ounce perfumed neck and whisper whispered into Ione’s ear, “Don’t make me cuff you too.”

A soft bump with a hard object against her back, eyes covered like he did this every day, and then those hands running down her back again, resting against the swell of her hip like a promise. “Play nice, and everyone goes home, instead of being arrested for underage drinking and drug use.”

 

[Retrojapan]

The entire scene just an ode to the age old classic hot girl who would never approach the Dungeons and Dragons table actually approaching the Dungeons and Dragons table. Holy shit. Sterling's buddies are literally the guys in the video. Lucky for them, Iona was the only one at risk of being stoned that night. Joe and Bruce were there planting the seeds ("Did you know he had a girlfriend?" perennials bloom every spring so Sterling can never live it down) of revenge, but this was her episode, and the cop's personal Scooby Gang was stealing the spotlight from her own.

These guys were never going to remember the lap dance from a Vienna sausage wearing a wig. If you remember your bachelor party then who the fuck planned you such a shitty one. The same can be said about birthdays, though. She was wearing a tiara and bandanna blindfold over her eyes with hot cop at a strip club. A modern Buttercup from the Princess Bride. Only difference was that she was totally willing to be taken prisoner because this was the best fucking birthday of her life. Suddenly there was a plot twist in her boring melodrama, and the bastard cop was good enough to stay on for the next season. He might even be the only thing keeping the show afloat.

Iona felt him whisper in her ear and it sounded like he assumed Chanel's eau de parfum was worth way more than it was. That's exactly what the marketers wanted him to think too, and he fell for it. It was only a hundred per bottle. Iona smelled deceiving, but it was worth letting everyone know that Marilyn Monroe wore N°5. The cuffing would have made for the feeling she was going for, though. This time she would settle for the feel of his hands running down her back. Still made her a redheaded wench. The convoy heading for the parking lot like the end to a fucked up night that it was.

The two anti-heroes in the parking lot were contemplating the fucked up night, too. Both sitting on the hood of the Hummer going over the facts for the fifth time in just as many minutes. Trying to get it straight. Felix being anything but. They had an eight ball. Then they didn't. Iona was dating Felix because he was actually a decent-enough guy to play the part of boyfriend sometimes, and it saved her from actually being intimate with anyone. Then she wasn't ("She's twenty now." Felix sniffled. "Maybe she doesn't need coke and Instagram followers anymore"). The long gone coke thief Felix brought back to the parking lot was Beetlejuice, but the fucker could have also been Tiger King out on a day pass. It was a lot to remember. K-Hole was the stand in Shaggy, though, so he wasn't really paying attention to the conversation in the first place. The next scene was just lining up a blindfolded Iona with crown still on head being marched through the parking lot like a ritualistic sacrifice by some dad bod's and hot cop. The kind of highbrow avante-garde Act I Scene I you would expect at the next Cirque du Soleil feature. Meaning it made zero sense.

"That chick looks just like Iona." Zoinks!? K-Hole was the first to notice, consciously or not, that the two scenes were now reaching a fork.

"The fuck!? That is Iona. What are they going to do to her!?" Felix finally clued in that he was the stand in Fred. He also realized the hypocrisy that was him being a gay man enraged over what looked like a fucking good heterosexual time, actually. He was pretty interested in wherever the hell those dad bod's were taking the young redhead. They didn't even need to blindfold him, though. He was a professional backdoor man in every sense of the word. Still... Iona was obviously the stand in Daphne, and he felt some completely scripted albeit platonic obligation to at least make sure she was alright with this. She totally was, though. He always knew Iona was more Fifty Shades of Grey than Twilight. The wannabe starlet was finally filling the roles to her script. Felix felt a little pride swell in his chest. Good for her.

"That's the fucking cop, dude!! That's the cop!" K-Hole grabbed Felix, shaking his shoulders. "I don't wanna go down for this!" This being their total lack of anything truly illegal, actually. It was more the fact that they had locked themselves out of the Hummer after putting the siding back on. K-Hole was still totally coked out. Felix was still totally without a proper license, registration or any proof that the vehicle they were taking a break from breaking into, was actually his. They were both suspicious and paranoid with only dilated pupils to speak to their state of affairs. As such, the two anti-heroes did nothing, and watched from the hood of the Mystery Van as Daphne went off into the night.

 

[Traveler]

“I get the back seat,” Harry had announced as they broke free from the sweat and pot filled air of the Rocket Club. The only rocket that had gone off that night had been his, and it had been as sweet and warm as apple pie. The air outside was much cooler. At least, there was more oxygen in the mix and less pheromones, but the scent of pot and other illicits still lingered in the air.

“You’re all going in the back seats,” Sterling informed the bachelor party, his grip tight on Ione’s right arm. He held her like he held any arrestee; close enough to control but far enough to keep away from his body. He almost wished he had cuffed her – the blindfold and her swinging hips told him she wasn’t taking any of this seriously enough.

Future husband envisioned the three of them going at it with the redhead. Joe was thinking that it was not fair he’d be regulated to the very back. He was the only one really short enough to sit in the kiddie seat without banging up his knees. But maybe with his narrow hips he could sit in the middle…he did get car sick occasionally, and that had been a lot of drinks with umbrellas in them.

The three stooges got into the back, and Sterling loaded the bombshell in the front seat, his head pressing her head down to avoid the edge of the car. He pulled the seat belt across her chest, brushing against those almost-bare breasts with a forearm and locking her in with a satisfying -click-, followed by a quiet, “Don’t fuck with my car,” before slamming the door shut. The interior still smelled new; leather and his cologne, and something akin to the scent a firework gives off after it had been lit, filled the mobile room. The leather seats were cool and clean against her bare thighs.

Unfortunately, no one lived near anyone anymore, not like when they were kids and a quick bike or skateboard trip would bring them all to the same musty basement to wile away the summer together. No, everyone seemed to be as far apart as possible from each other and live in the same county, so Sterling got to chaperone the wonder triplets across several freeways and interstates, choosing to drop off the farthest first in the hopes that Strawberry Shortcake would take a snooze.

“Hey, put on some music, man,” Harry leaned forward in the seat and stuck his head into the first row. Presumably so he could be heard by Tony, but mostly so he could get another look at Ione’s breasts and touch her arm.

“Yeah, music!” Bruce upvoted. “Music, music, I hear music,” he started to sing his favorite King’s X tune, joined in by Joe and Harry as they relished tormenting the Designated Party Dud in the front seat.

Music music I hear music
Music I hear music music music oh! oh! oh! Lord music over my head
I! I! I! hear it so clear
I! I! I! hear it so dear
I know I know I know I'm not crazy
It's going to my head
Grandma used to sing
Grandma used to sing​

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Sterling punched the ‘connect’ button on this console and it started to play the first song queued on his playlist. Ironically, it was appropriate for his mood at the moment.

“Aw, no man…” Harry groaned. “That’s killing my mood!”

The driver smirked and turned it up. “My car, my music.”

Pain without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

You're sick of feeling numb
You're not the only one
I'll take you by the hand
And I'll show you a world that you can understand
This life is filled with hurt
When happiness doesn't work
Trust me, and take my hand
When the lights go out, you'll understand…​

Soon everyone had been dropped off at their suburban mini-mansions, and when the last one stumbled to his door after shouting “Bring her tomorrow!”, keyed in and went inside, Sterling did a quick check of his back seat. – Yep, no vomit or drugs laying around. He pulled out of the driveway and drove back to the interstate until he found the place he wanted. The Tahoe was put in park and Sterling turned to the surprisingly quiet passenger next to him. “Give me your right hand,” he said, extending his to take her wrist. When she did, he snapped a cuff around them and tightened them. Like he did this every day. Which he did.

Sterling took Ione’s left hand and pulled it towards himself, lacing the cuff around the steering wheel and clipping it around that hand, to keep her still. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warned her, trying not to notice the way the parking lot lights made her steepled nipples shadow across the dark fabric of her dress. This was going to be one night he would not forget, but if he was lucky, it wouldn’t go down in the books. Or bookings. And right now, he needed some major luck to get to tomorrow’s wedding unscathed.

A few moments later he returned and uncuffed one of her wrist. There was only so much he could trust, after all. “Slide your other arm behind your back, Princess.” Once she was cuffed he walked her through the side door into the interior. If Ione had done any traveling, and he guessed she had, the smell of a hotel. Because it was. Not a cheap, bring your hook-up to the motel kind of place, but the kind of place businessmen stayed, and families with a little money used on annual vacations. The voices of other people in the hallway stopped abruptly when they saw the stern man walking Ione towards the elevator but he winked at them, mouthed “Fantasy”, and sent them off with blushes as they stole glances over their shoulders, fueling their own wet-dreams for nights to come.

Titterings in a foreign language floated in the elevator as the doors dinged shut. Sterling rolled his eyes as ‘Love in an Elevator’ flitted through his mind. ‘Shut up, Brain.’

Third floor. Back of the hallway. Once the keycard let them in he walked her into the room, bolting the door behind them. He uncuffed her and pulled the blindfold and tiara off her head to reveal their two-bed lodging.

“Go wash up and get into bed,” he said, putting the bandana on the dresser with the tiara and flipping the TV on. “We’re staying here tonight.”

 

[Retrojapan]

Iona's blindfolded drive through suburbia played out like Sandra Bullock's perspective in Birdbox. Absolutely nothing to look at, and still somehow better than the actual movie itself. This was the cliche revelatory scene where her character sees Sterling's character for the first time without judgement through the peanut gallery banter happening around them. Dragon Slayer and princess. The sounds and the motions informed her enough about what narratives their night could still take. The mute/blind connection screamed Ariel, but the unveiling of the hotel room panning more like Beasts's library reveal to Belle than Sterling might have anticipated. Either way, a casting call to fill the role of a prince in disguise was taking place in the 'businessmen/family' oriented hotel where people totally still checked into for sex. And Iona knew it.

"You dirty devil! Bringing the mayor's daughter to a sleazy hotel after abducting her!" The redhead gasped dramatically as she looked around the totally respectable and more than generous alternative to anything guys her own age could have come up with. Going home with Fred and Shaggy was the same old reruns where nothing surprised her and nothing stood out. Nothing happened. She wasn't even watching anymore. It was her birthday. She just wanted to be spoiled and feel special for once. Being rich and having everything should have made it more difficult than a hotel room at the end of the night, but it turns out the resting bitch face was actually that easy to please. Despite the Chanel and tiara. Money didn't buy experiences. Money didn't buy the kind of improv theatrics Sterling was inspiring in her cast.

The whole new world experience was just the backdrop for cop and perp finally banging in less than ten minutes. But it represented something so much more to Iona. It was the realization that she was used to guys her age taking her to a different sort of ball pit at the end of the night. The realization that Felix didn't even know her at all. They were both holding each other back from obtaining the father figure of their dreams. The guy still drove them to McDonald's instead of foreplay. It all boiled down to the fact that she was still trying to be fully vegan for more than thirty six hours, and no one cared. No one understood her moody cult classics and fairy tale aspirations. Everyone played a very important part in building this moment up. They were finally about to have the emotionally charged scene lead actors deserve. Seriously, how much longer was Sterling going to keep it in his pants? It was unbelievable writing. Iona actually loved surprises. As such, no surprise that there was a knock. The redhead turned her blue eyes to the door, heart pounding. She knew it was still too soon for a climax.

"Iona? Are you in there? What the fuck is he doing to you!" The desperate voice sounded flat and a little muted through the door, but it was obviously Felix. Incessant knocking accompanied.

"They followed us." Iona let go of the breath she had been holding only to state the obvious. And it was true. Felix suddenly realizing the keys were actually in his pocket the entire time then decided it was now or never for him to redeem his character and prove himself to Iona as the gay boyfriend she needed to keep around. Or at least get in on whatever was happening with the hot cop and his buddies. More surprisingly, reason for alarm, and out of character, was the fact that she seemed willing. That wasn't right! Iona McBelle wasn't willing to do shit. Felix knew it. Even K-Hole knew it. That was the fucking mystery. He was on it. She was obviously being held against her will. No surprise the Hummer followed behind Sterling's SUV the entire ride through suburbia and straight to the hotel like the cockblocks they were intended to be. Iona was actually flattered by their bravery and thoughtfulness. Fred and Shaggy cared. "Go away! We aren't even dating anymore!"

"I just wanted to make sure that you're ok with this. Whatever it is. I know we ended in a bad spot... We always do, but like, baaabe. Whatever is happening in there... You can tell me. Whatever drugs you're doing in there... We can still do them together."

"Get the fuck outta here, Felix!"

"You're alright then? I mean, you really want it to go down this way? Who's in there with you!?" Felix mournfully placed a hand on the door and hung his head in tandem with the soap opera scene that it was. The domestic dispute call no officer wanted to take was them yelling obscenities at each other through the door as if no one else was around. K-Hole added to the production by sounding like he was throwing up in the hallway right outside their room. Someone in another suite yelled at them to shut the fuck up. Another one across the hall yelled it back.

"I want to be here with him!" Iona voice sounded overly dramatic to go with the weird flashback video montage which would be playing at this point. Felix's character had been redeemed and he was signing off for the night. He turned to K-hole who hadn't vomited, actually. He was just burping out that new Snoop Dog and Beyonce song while Fred and Daphne tied up their narrative as a couple so that the plot could finally move forward. Maybe. Felix didn't even need to say another word because she knew - Felix and K-Hole were on their way to McDonald's now. For the first time in her life, a different pounder was on her menu. She turned around and gazed longingly at Sterling while soundtrack music from another room emphasized the scene through the paper thin walls.

 

[Traveler]

Ah, fuck a duck, she did not just call this a sleazy hotel, did she? As if he was taking her here to have his way with her and then dump her on some street corner the next morning? Was that what her teeny-bopper psyche had come up with for the script of the night, or was she just testing him, pulling her daddy’s rank against his and coming up with the most logical explanation her coked-up mind could create? He flexed his fingers in frustration at the whole dichotomy of the situation.

Yes, she was the mayor’s daughter. That had been verified that day in court when her guilt was determined. Yes, he had technically abducted her, for a court of law might find his threat to her to be implied violence, even though he’d only threatened arrest. And yes, this was a hotel, but…sleazy? He’d never been sleazy out of script in his life. Only when requested, and only with consent.

The banging at the door sounded suspiciously like a cop. A cop about ten years old with fists of macaroni. Already on edge, Sterling went for his little sidekick and three-quarter turned towards the door, expect a barrage of orders or at least an announcement completely different from what he heard.

No threat, just a familiar voice that should have been followed with an “It’s Pat” ‘Eeeeehhhhwww’, but was followed with concern. Or at least what passed as true concern for the group of Millennials outside the door. “Friends of yours?” Sterling asked, lowering the muzzle. How the fuck would he explain a discharge in a hotel room?

With the mayor’s daughter, no less?

“No shit, they followed us,” he muttered. He’d been so focused on not letting her learn his buddies’ addresses he forgot about his own security. Fail, Officer Sterling. We’re going to bust you back to beat cop now. Turn in the bike, turn in any hopes of making detective, and just…turn in. As the back and forth mating calls penetrated the thin hotel room walls, he holstered his sidearm and tucked back his shirt. The barrel was going to see more airtime with Ione than he was. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his eyes swiveling from the door to Ione in time with the banter like an umpire at a tennis match. They were definitely high. Drunk. And stupid. He was not going to let her go home with them, no matter how much of an abduction charge this mounted to.

She was the mayor’s daughter, after all. He could claim he was protecting her from herself. In a way, it was true. About 90% true.

She was dating one of the morons, that was news. Great taste, Ione. Or was it? Maybe she had a thing for chicken wings and slim shadys. Maybe she was just dating for the coke – who knew why people who should have known better do the things that lead them into Plato’s Closet?

The urban inner-city shout-fest subsided, and not a single audience member called for an encore. As the sounds outside diminished, shuffling feet doing the walk of shame with no shaming happening, at least for him, he turned and caught ‘that look’ from the vixen.

Not that parts of him didn’t want to give her what she wanted. Oh…they wanted to. They wanted it hard bad, but crossing that line with this filly was going to spell all sorts of trouble, deeper and longer than anything that Nadine the dispatcher brewed up. No, this was one of those lines in the sand that could not be crossed. Not with her, ever. Never. ‘Shut up down there, I’m talking to you’ kind of never.

Sterling groaned disapprovingly; his arms still crossed. “Go. Wash. Up. Then get in bed. Capisce?”

It looked like another all-nighter. Unpaid. Tomorrow though, he would be the one paying for his impromptu babysitting gig. If he made it through the night with Pandora’s little box and her teeny black dress. He just might have to find a way to cuff that mustang to the bed.