Probation officer #40: “Why spank her if she’d only enjoy it?”

I was puzzled by Sa’afia’s suggestion – demand, really – that I spank Ana. I knew that if I did I’d have a good time, so long as Ana was having a good time too. But I had no reason to think Ana was submissive, and if she wasn’t going to enjoy it what would be the point? I couldn’t imagine spanking someone who didn’t want it. So I said, “Why should I spank Ana? Do you think she’d enjoy it?”

Sa’afia looked at me. I’d said something genuinely strange. “What? Why would she enjoy getting a spanking?” She frowned. “If she was going to enjoy it, why would you do it? That’s…” We looked at each other, having achieved mutual incomprehension.

Then Sa’afia said, “Oh.” She laughed. She was still stroking my cock. “Oh, you mean, like a pervy sex thing? Oh Jaime, you palagi, you’re filthy.”

(Palagi is pronounced “pah-lang-ee”, where “lang” sounds like the German word “lang”, or perhaps “larng”, if you say larng quickly. Palagi can mean “anyone who isn’t Samoan”, but mostly it means “white people”, especially English-speaking ones. It’s not a derogatory term, though if you hear it snarled at you in a certain tone of voice, it might be a good idea to duck. Sa’afia said it affectionately.)

I said, disingenuously, “Well, I don’t know. I know some people enjoy it. Spanking or getting spanked. Or they do both.”

Not boney.

Not boney. Bonny.

“Palagi think everything comes down to  sex. No, I meant you should spank Ana because she’s been messing with you. That’s disrespectful. She deserves it. Put her boney little ass over your knee.”

“It’s not a boney little ass.”

“It’s not like mine. Yeah?” Sa’afia wriggled. She was facing me, but that wiggle worked on my imagination. 

Both asses were perfect, as far as I could tell, but Sa’afia’s slightly more womanly ass was the one on my bed. I said, “Oh yes. Yes, your ass is very very very fine.”

“Thank you.” She poked a finger at my chest. She was vehement about this. “And once you’ve got her over your knee, you get whatever she’s wearing off: right off. That’s how it works. And you smack her. And you do it right.  Not so she enjoys it. To make her behave, silly man.” She glanced down at my cock.

I didn’t want attention drawn to my cock just then. And I didn’t want to think about where this sudden fervour for the discipline of her cousin had come from: Was she jealous of Ana? Was it something she, Sa’afia, wanted herself? Or had Ana put her up to the whole thing? I’d have to explore that some time, but not now.

I said, “You’re a fine one to talk about being filthy. For starters, you’ve got lettuce on your …” And I dived and took a little fold of belly, and the lettuce shred, between my teeth. I bit lightly and shook my head like a terrier, so that she shivered. I speared the little piece of lettuce with my tongue and made it go away, and veered downhill, the further two inches to her cunt. Salty girl, she was.

Sa’afia put her hands on my head and fell back with a whumpff of pillows. So that conversation was over.

And though she’d stopped thinking, I now had a perfectly good explanation and justification for presenting her with an erection.

Probation officer #39: Making mischief

I frowned. “I doubt -. No, I’m pretty sure that’s not a good idea.”

“She should know what she’s missing. Since you’re so careful not to -. Well, she’s not going to find out from you.” 

Sa’afia was making mischief. If she was any cousin of Ana’s, looking worried would only make it worse. So I said, “You’re cousins, and you’re both Bad Girls. Both of you. So you tell Ana whatever you like. But it’s not going to matter. I’m still not allowed to tell you anything about Ana, I mean about Ana and probation. And I’m still not allowed to fuck her, no matter what you tell her.” 

“She’s been teasing you. You know that, don’t you?” 

I thought about Ana’s lesbian story, and how disappointed she’d seemed with my tediously helpful reaction. I’d believed the story at the time, but I’d started to have my doubts. “Maybe.”

“No maybe about it, Mr Probation Officer Sir. She’s been trying to give you another rere, because you get so cute when you’re embarrassed.” She looked at me to check, and of course I blushed. “It’s okay. It is cute.” She circled my cock with her fingers. It didn’t stir. 

“Huh.” (A ‘rere’, pronounced ‘ray-ray’, is an erection, in Samoan circles. But she didn’t mean my cock was cute; she meant my embarrassment was.) 

“Anyway, she says she tells you filthy stories, and she shows you what she had for breakfast, and she says you just sit there and react like a robot. She was starting to think maybe you were gay. Or something. So I can tell her she’s on the wrong track there.” Her hand, still on my cock, started stroking lightly.   

“She knows I fancy her. That’s not breaking any confidences.” I meant that I’d said it to Ana at the party, after we’d danced together, so it wasn’t covered by probation confidentiality rules. But that was too boring and priggish to explain. Fortunately Sa’afia didn’t question it. “But I’m supposed to be a professional. I’m trying to act like it.” 

How much had I thought about that? Far, far, far, far too much.

How much had I thought about that? Far, far, far, far too much.

“You know, you should give her a spanking.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“That’s what she needs, I reckon. I bet she deserves it, too. You should just put her over your knee and smack her bottom.”

My cock, treacherously, chose that moment to wake up in her hand. 

Probation officer #38: Don’t talk about the butt-fucking

rude foodIt was afternoon. We’d fucked and slept again, and now we were awake. Sa’afia sat on my bed facing me, cross-legged in my shirt, eating the salad and boiled eggs I’d provided. The shirt was unbuttoned, and there was a tendril of shredded lettuce just above her right nipple. At some stage I was going to lean forward and eat it, but for now I was mesmerised by the way that little sliver of green swung and lifted on brown curved skin as she ate. 

I could watch this oddly intimate sight because I’d done one domly thing with Sa’afia. After we’d exhausted ourselves, I’d put together lunch in the kitchen while she had a shower. When I brought her food I’d picked up the shirt and put it on her shoulders, and she’d put it on and then made to do up the buttons. I’d told her firmly to stop that and leave the shirt open.

She’d stopped as she was told, and undid the one button she’d fastened. I didn’t read anything into that. Apart from that, I’d kept all bdsm and dominant tastes, desires and practices firmly suppressed.

She stopped eating, at last, and looked at me. I was greedier than her, and I’d finished, except for that sliver of lettuce of her breast. I was saving that. “What’s it like, being Ana’s probation officer?”

I thought. “Well, it’s, um.” I realised that there was nothing about being Ana’s probation officer that wasn’t personal. “Actually, I don’t think I can tell you anything about it. We’re like doctors.”

food girl“Or priests.”

“Not exactly like priests. We’re not supposed to butt-fuck our clients.”

Sa’afia stared at me, a little shocked, and then the shred of lettuce shook when she laughed, until it fell another fifteen centimetres down her body, on the curve of her lower belly. I’d be happy to eat it from there, too. 

“So you can’t talk about it.” 

“Nah. Not even about the butt-fucking.” 

“Mmmm. You’re not such a good boy, not like you pretend, are you?” Sa’afia reached over and touched my cock. “But I’m not confidential. I can tell Ana about you.” 

Probation officer #37: Thank you, First Samoan Church of Los Angeles

save the penisSa’afia was prepared to count “get your ass over here” as admiration, because she crawled towards me from the foot of the bed, pulled off the last of the covers and took my cock in her mouth. I put my hand on her head, holding gently since she wasn’t one of those submissive girls. I sighed comfortably. 

Two hours’ sleep must have helped, but it was clear that church had made her feel good, in both the virtuous and cheerful senses. She took me deeper, and nodded her head on her hard mouthful, slowly and remorselessly. I don’t understand religion, but sometimes I benefit from it. Not because of that thought, I said, “Ah god.”

I was going to come very soon unless I stopped her. Sa’afia had gone to church dressed in my clothes, still groggy with our sex-induced sleep, presenting herself in white, sitting and kneeling and sitting again on command. With the tactile memory of my cock still in her. I strongly believed that I should never desire a woman for what she represents, but only for who she is. Anything else is insulting.

Well, I did desire her and like her for who she was. Still, that kneeling good girl in church, in white: that girl was kneeling and naked now, sucking my cock … That thought led quickly to another one: how long will it take me to recover when I come in her mouth? I reached under Sa’afia’s shoulders to take her breasts in my hands while she sucked me, and hoped that my unspoken enthusiasm for her breasts might help to overwrite whatever negative thing she had decided or been told about them. I decided that Sa’afia would want to stay to find out how long I’d take to recover, and I tightened my grip on her breasts and began to thrust more firmly, determinedly. 

I said, at a critical moment, “Uh, Sa’afia, I -” But by then she knew I was about to come because I’d started. She took, swallowed and kept going, until my feet, shoulders and arms had all lifted off the bed and I could only make incoherent noises. She continued, making a fond noise you might make to a baby, until I lay back again and my cock had started to soften in her mouth.  

One of my last thoughts before my autonomic responses took over had been in praise and thanks to the First Samoan Church of Los Angeles. I didn’t speak it aloud.

Probation officer #36: My shirt

 Sa’afia got up early next morning, muttering something. I didn’t argue. We’d had two hours’ sleep. I was only half aware of her leaving. I woke up later, alone. I was sad she’d gone and didn’t expect her back, but I went back to sleep. 

I was still asleep in mid-morning when she came back. She’d put her hair up and a red flower behind her ear. She was wearing my biggest white shirt with a belt, and my smallest, blackest jacket. She looked neat and tidy, and pure, like a girl at a Samoan church. It was Sunday, of course. I’d forgotten about Sundays and churches. I thought of the congregations I’d driven past at Samoan churches, and decided – despite her bare legs and sneakers – that she’d probably passed. 

I said, “Hello, you. Where’d you get the hibiscus?” 

“Tree near the church.”

“Cool shirt.”

“Oh Jaime, I’m sorry. I needed to wear black and white, and I didn’t want to wake you. It’s, well, I can’t go to church looking like I didn’t get home last night. They wouldn’t stop talking about it. I mean for years.”

“I suppose not. You slut.” She did a supermodel ‘flirt’ pose, with a twirl of hair on her finger, looking at me sideways, showing me dimples. She was full of herself, having fooled her congregation. And maybe her mother. Maybe. “Wonder slut. Beautiful slut. And it’s okay, you’re welcome. That shirt looks way better on you than me.”

shirtSa’afia put my jacket over the back of a chair, and began to undo buttons. “No. It looks better in, Jaime, don’t you have a clothes basket? Well, on the floor, then.”

She stripped quickly and without any trace of last night’s shyness. She skimmed down her knickers. But the bra was still the last thing she took off. I wanted to put my face between her breasts, and then my cock. But remembering last night’s shyness about her breasts, I said, “Yes,” with fervour, as applause.

So Sa’afia stood naked, not posed as anything, just letting me look at her.

I sat up and pulled the bedcovers aside. “Get your ass here. Now.”  

Probation officer #35: Round my ears

In the taxi we established that Sa’afia had her mother staying at her house and no condoms. My place had condoms and no moms. We went to my place. 

taxiIn the taxi Sa’afia accepted my hand under her shirt, but not under her bra, a signal that I hadn’t yet won the right to assume that we were going to have sex. Sa’afia was a good girl by the lights of the First Samoan Church of Los Angeles, when she wasn’t being goaded by her younger cousin into going out to get laid at a party.

So I consolidated what I’d won so far, with my hands on her warm, bare back while I kissed her. She sighed and kissed back. There was desire, and so we made ourselves busy.

All I had to do was not screw up, in a courtship game where I had to guess the rules as well as make sure I didn’t break them. But everything about this night, this taxi trip to my bed, was random. I’d met Sa’afia by accident by meeting Ana by accident; and on any other night Sa’afia might still have liked me, but she wouldn’t have got into a taxi with me. Sa’afia had told me about the pep talk Ana had given about girls going out to have fun. Even then, I wouldn’t have spent my evening trying to make sure Sa’afia had fun, if she hadn’t touched my mouth. We were random events. 

black girlInside my door, we said almost nothing until the next morning, but it seemed that Sa’afia wanted to know that I desired her. That was easy. I took off her clothes very slowly, with a lot of kissing and adoring what I found, and once I’d removed everything but her bra and knickers she was prepared to be gathered in and lain on her back on my bed.

She was content to leave me dressed while I undressed her, and to accept and give me kisses when our mouths were close. But sex was something she went along with, not something she demanded or led. She wasn’t “submissive”, and I’d already found that it’s submissive women, in the bdsm sense, who tend to be readiest to specify what they want and to be most assertive during sex. It’s a generalisation, but most men and women who do both styles of sex will recognise it.    

She had to be coaxed and kissed to get her bra off. It seemed odd to strike that shyness at this stage, and I wondered if some oaf had, some time in her life, made her self-conscious about her breasts. Her breasts were firmly heavy, one of the many kinds of perfect. Maybe she’d had more attention that she’d liked. I decided to say nothing, in the meantime. 

lickBut she didn’t hesitate to lift her ass so I could slide her tiny red knickers down and off. She was exuberantly wet when I stroked her, and vocal, though I don’t think her murmurs involved words, when I ran my tongue down her belly and stayed to tongue slowly along the plump purple folds of her cunt. Sa’afia closed soft, slightly cool thighs against my ears, and squirmed luxuriously. 

Probation officer #34: “You’re funny”

But with the mouth-touching and waist holding thing we’d only signalled possibilities. It took us until two in the morning to get into the same bed. It wasn’t a matter of Sa’afia being coy, or her wanting assurances that I intended much beyond the present night. She wanted to know for a fact that she liked me.

I’d made no important mistakes, and relief had made me a little high and silly so that I was more successfully amusing than usual. But I think she only decided that she liked me, personally and particularly, about one-thirty. The unusual thing was that it was because she worked out that I’d lied to her about something important.

We’d talked about Ana’s college, where I’d let her think, without saying so directly, that I was enrolled too. But I mentioned an Indian takeaway in the food hall, which had actually closed two years ago. Sa’afia knew that and I didn’t. She looked at me. She was angry.

laughThen suddenly she wasn’t angry. She pointed a finger at me, as though I was something funny that I really should get a look at. “You. You’re the guy from probation, aren’t you? Ana’s told me … Oh my god.” And she laughed, then tried to stop. Then she laughed some more and said, “Oh, I’m rude, sorry. Sorry.” Then she laughed so hard she stumbled forward, helpless with amusement. 

She collapsed against me, which meant I had to hold her up, which was fine because it was an intense version of holding her. She felt good.

She glanced over at me, a little guiltily, but I was happy. So she kissed my neck. “You’re funny.”

There was a lot to be said about that. But I chose, “Taxi?”

“Yeah. Mr Probation Officer. Taxi.”

Probation officer #33: Shut up and sleep with me (Sin With Sebastian)

I gave Ana a little wave, which she didn’t see, and drew Sa’afia out of the circle. Then there was no circle, just a snogging couple and two strangers. Sa’afia looked curiously at me. She was wondering if I’d just experienced a personal tragedy and she needed to be sympathetic.

I said, “No no. Ana and I, we really are friends. Just friends.”

I was still grinning at her in relief and delight, which must have seemed odd. She laughed. “If you say so.”

“Absolutely I say so. Sa’afia. So would you like – “

“Ah, yeah. Okay. You wanna dance?”

“Actually I saw you. Before you came over. And you dance like a – like a really good dancer. Really good.”

Sa’afia raised her eyebrows. “Ah.”

“And I dance like a trainwreck. Something hit by a trainwreck.”

“Aw, you didn’t look that bad. Considering.”

“That’s only because I kind of enjoy it. In a sick way. But really I suck. Everyone knows it.”

I actually have this CD.

I actually have this CD.

She touched my mouth. “You should shut up and dance, more.”

“I’d love to dance with you. If you’re serious. But I was going to say, Would you like a glass of wine?”

“You know, I think I would. You have wine?” 

I tapped Manaia on the shoulder. He looked up, frowning. Ana saw me. I grinned, so she grinned back.

I gave Manaia the other beer, and warned him not to open it for a while: it might get foamy.

I said to Sa’afia, “There’s wine in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” She’d touched my mouth, so on the way to the kitchen I put my arm round Sa’afia’s waist. She let it stay there. I expected she and Ana would compare notes in the morning. 

Probation officer #32: “And he’s your?”

Then I saw another girl, who’d been dancing with Ana when I arrived. She was Samoan too, a slightly fuller version of Ana: a sister, maybe. She was coming over to find out who had taken all of Ana’s attention. There was a boy following her. Following close and watching that woman walk, but he hadn’t sealed any deals.

She said, “Hey, girl!”

Ana said, “Ah hey!” and gave her a kissy face. She said to me, “this is Sa’afia!” 

I said, borne along by relief, “Hey, Sa’afia, you must be Ana’s beautiful sister?” 

“Beautiful cousin. And hey, you.” It seemed she wasn’t eccied, as she didn’t take to being called “beautiful” quite as easily as Ana would. But I’d got the glottal stop in her name right, so it wasn’t such a bad thing if I thought she was beautiful.

It had mainly been the relief speaking, making me expansive. But now I’d mentioned it, I decided that she was. Beautiful. A bit older than Ana, more serious. Softer. Sa’afia smiled. “And you are?” 

Ana said, “oh! And this is Jaime!” 

Sa’afia said, “And he’s your?”

Ana stopped still, confused for a second. She didn’t want to say, “probation officer.” 

I said, “friend. We’re friends.” I named the college where Ana was doing her night classes.

Sa’afia said, “Oh, that’s cool.” Now she was grinning back at me. 

dipAnd because it was a party, I drew Sa’afia into the embrace involving Ana and me, and then, because he was looking forlorn, I made space for the boy who’d followed Sa’afia. Between Ana and me. Ana, the wee slut, said, “Hey, Manaia!” and kissed him. So Manaia was his name.

Manaia took his chance and kissed back, put his arms around Ana and dipped her like a dancing sailor. He was going to be Ana’s lucky man tonight, and that, at least, would be uncomplicated.

Probation officer #31: A pause

wantonI leaned back so my erection wasn’t pressing against her tummy. It was incredibly hard – I mean difficult – to think about anything but fucking her. But I had to tell her I still couldn’t fuck her, and that this was my problem and not hers. I began, “Ana? Ana!”

She mimicked, “Jaime? Jaime!” She was prepared to fuck me. She wasn’t prepared to take me seriously. Not that it was personal. She wasn’t prepared to take words seriously just then.  

I said, “Ana, you’re beautiful. I want to fuck you.” 

“Ahhh Jaime, you’re beautiful too. Beautiful Jaime. And I’m going to fuck your beautiful fucking brains out.” Ana nearly yelled that. 

I was supposed to have said “but”, after the bit about wanting to fuck her. I’d paused too long.

I couldn’t see a way out of this without hurting her and looking like pond scum. But if I fucked her I’d have to stop being her probation officer, and I’d started to think I was actually doing some good. When I explained why someone else would have to take Ana onto their caseload I’d stand a good chance of getting fired, and that wouldn’t be wrong. Well, I could get another job; I wouldn’t get back my self-respect quite so easily.

Far too late, I said, “But…”