Straight to the shop...but...

Your cherry red Jetta zips down the suburban streets, dance music blasting from your stereo. When you hit the main arteries to downtown you pick up the pace. You've always loved driving fast and the feeling of the wind whipping through your hair is refreshing. You weave through pokey drivers and burn through yellow lights as the skyline of downtown office towers fills more and more of your windshield.

Suddenly, you hear the unmistakable wail of sirens. Your eyes flick to your rearview mirror and you can a police cruiser pulling in behind you. The shoulder isn't really wide enough to pull off, so you turn on your signal and continue until you are able to pull off into the asphalt lot of a car parts store. The police car pulls in behind you as you come to a stop and shut off your stereo.

You've had your share of speeding tickets, but you feel butterflies in your stomach all the same. You have no idea how fast you were going. Keenly aware of that, you unbutton two of the buttons on your top, revealing a good deal more of your cleavage and even the shimmering black lace cups of your bra. In fact, there are only two buttons left hold your shirt in place.

The door of the cop car opens and then slams closed. You search your tiny purse for your license as the footsteps approach your side of the Jetta.

"Ma'am," you look up from your purse at the cop looming next to you.

He's a muscular man, looks to be in his 30s, with tan skin from long hours on the job. He has a square jaw and a slightly droopy blond mustache. His haircut is almost military in style and his reflective aviator sunglasses make him seem a little intimidating. They also make it hard to tell if he's getting an eyeful of your big tits or not.

"Sorry, officer," you say. "Was I going too fast?"

"You certainly were," he spits on the asphalt. "Care to guess how fast I clocked you at?"

"Oh, jeez," you reply. "Five miles over?"

He chuckles.

"Try 25," he flips open a ticket book. "I could cite you for reckless driving. You can go to jail for that, lose your license for 10 years."

"But you're not gonna do that?"

"You're just a kid," he says. "Consider this a listen in that regard. But I'm still going to write you up a mighty big ticket. Now let me see your license and registration."

Well, either the cop is having a good day or your cleavage has worked to get you out of one predicament. Should you just accept the ticket and go on or try to tease your way out of it?