On Saturday morning there was a knock at my door, tentative so I knew it was Sa’afia come to be punished. It was quarter to ten, so I came out ready to pretend to be angry at her for being early. I’d intended just to tell her off and keep her standing out there, waiting. But she was wearing clumpy shoes and a simple white cotton dress that clung to her like a nightie. It was wet in spots. She’d run from her car, but it was raining. She carried the stick in both hands, behind her back.

She’d thought about the impact she’d make on me. Therefore she’d thought about being early. She’d wanted to give me the chance to do whatever I might like to do about it. 

I put my hand on her face, slapping her lightly but then holding her, my thumb under her chin, fingers still touching her face where the slap had landed. “I said ten o’clock!” As if I were angry. It’s a ridiculous reaction to a pretty girl in revealing clothing on my doorstep, but that didn’t matter. Sa’afia wanted to be in the wrong. She’d chosen to be in the wrong, with aforethought. She wanted to be put in that quiet, palely sexy place she’d thought about when we were on the phone yesterday.

I reached behind Sa’afia and took the stick from her, and pulled her a little inside the alcove at my door, so she was out of the way of the street. A neighbour or passer-by who heard a commotion and looked through the hedge to see what was going on would see us. But we had some privacy.

“Put your hands on the door!” Sa’afia obeyed, and arched her back, presenting her ass. I could have punished her for obeying without verbally acknowledging the order, but she wanted to go deeper than she could go and still be verbal. Even “yes sir” would soon be beyond her, and I didn’t want to keep her earthbound. So I smacked her bottom through that dress, and put my hand under her tummy to push her ass out just a little further. Then I kicked her left shoe, and she grunted and parted her legs further, arching her ass up just a bit more.

I swept the dress up, ready to smack her bottom. I was still thinking of making her wait outside, ass burning a little while she thought about what was to come. Once I took her inside. But there was her warm, brownish ass and waist. I stopped. She wasn’t wearing knickers. Sa’afia jolted me, when I saw her naked. I hadn’t asked for that. I approved, but I hadn’t thought of it. I drew in my breath, audibly, and –

The thing is, I’m a simple system. My reactions can be utterly predictable, and Sa’afia had predicted this one. Sa’afia, near-naked, sexually available and presented on my doorway, made me hard. She’d set a time limit that hadn’t been there before, about how long I could spend before I was inside her.

I could have grabbed her hair then, turned her face and kissed her, without breaking role. Because I suddenly wanted to kiss her. But if I did she’d have known the effect she’d had. Instead I smacked her ass, hard, about a dozen times. Neither of us were counting.

If there had been a passer-by, he or she would have wanted to know what was happening on the other side of the hedge. I saw something in Sa’afia’s eyes, a kind of panic or excitement. She’d had the same thought.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “The neighbours know what a girl sounds like when she’s getting a spanking.” I smacked her again, hand impacting her ass lusty and loud. Actually, the neighbours on one side listened to sports on full volume when they were home, and on the other side was an old couple who seemed to be largely deaf. It actually was true that Sa’afia wasn’t the first girl I’d spanked on my doorstep, but I was sure no-one had ever heard a thing.

Still, Sa’afia’s eyes were wide and wild, so I added, “they’ll hear you screaming for forgiveness later. Won’t they, Sa’afia? So they’ll know what a stupid girl you’ve been.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head. A little humiliation was good for her. She liked it, anyway. So I said, “But if you make too much noise, I’ll send you over to apologise.”

Sa’afia mumbled, “oh god, oh fuck.” She’d be so wet, I knew.

“Now hold still.” I took the stick and pressed it to Sa’afia’s lips. She kissed it sweetly, wetly and full-heartedly, trying to show me she was good. I swished it, audibly, through the air a couple of times, and then tapped the undercurve of her buttocks. So she knew where she was going to be hurt.

“Yes, sir.” Sa’afia had received the news that I needed to punish and fuck her with calm that might seem odd to people who were not like us. But a dom is never sexier than when he or she is cruel and implacable, or pretending to be. We’re cute when we’re angry.

Wet, on the phone.

I knew that grey-bland quietness in Sa’afia’s tone, when she’d called me sir. She was thinking about submission, and already starting to submit, and she was trying to hide that. 

I softened my voice for a second. “If you behave yourself while I punish you, you might just get to be my good girl again. Would you like that?” 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. It’s -” 

“Girl’, I’ve told you I don’t care. And Sa’afia?” 

“Sir?”

“This is going to be a hard lesson. Hard for you, that is. I’m going to hear you cry, darling, and I’m not going to stop just because of some tears. You’d better bring that stick.” 

“Oh! That stick really hurts!” Then she said, quickly, “Yes, I mean, yes sir, I’ll bring you the stick.” 

“Good. Tonight you’ll sleep naked. And you’ll have the stick under your pillow. And you’ll think about how hard I’m going to beat you, tomorrow.” 

There was a long silence. Sa’afia had gone into a good place. Eventually she said, “Oh yes. Um, Jaime, sir, I’m really -“

“You’ll be sorrier tomorrow. Don’t be late.” I hung up.  

Back at the office, I wondered if I’d learned anything from Ana. She’d given me a convincing and bewildered denial. But, I reflected, I’d gone about it wrong if I really wanted to get at the truth. I’d made it clear that I’d have to stop being her parole officer if we ever did anything sexual … All I’d done was set her up to lie to me.

So all I’d learned was that she was more skilled at lying than I’d thought. Or she was telling the truth and I’d learned, if I’d only trust her, that Ana had stayed on her couch, and it had been Sa’afia all along. Sa’afia who’d been able to say “shhhh” with her mouth deeply taking my cock, Sa’afia who was kittenishly sexy in the night, and then angry in the morning.

Sa’afia who hadn’t said anything loving to me since that night. So I called her. She answered, cagily.

I said, “Are you somewhere private, where you can talk?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Then get somewhere private. Right now. I don’t care if you’re serving someone. Do it now.”

A minute passed, and then Sa’afia said, “Yes, I can talk.”

“Good. How are you?”

“I’m ok.”

“Well, that’s a nice change. You’ve been shitty with me for nearly a week. And I’ve asked you what it’s about and you haven’t told me.”

“Well, I’m sorry. It’s -”

“And now I don’t even care.”

“Oh.” She sounded shocked.

“You’re coming over tomorrow. I don’t care what your Mom’s doing. You’ll be at my door at ten on Saturday morning. Understood?”

“Yes, but -”

“Good. I’m going to spend the first hour punishing your sorry little ass. Until I’m sure you’re sorry everywhere, not just your ass. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” It was understood. Her voice sounded slightly stronger. Whatever she’d been angry about, she preferred to be claimed, and not left to herself too much.  

“Then I’m going to spend two hours fucking you. After that we’ll see.” 

I pushed Ana a little more, though I couldn’t dwell on the question for more than a couple more beats. Not without giving too much away about what I knew or didn’t know. Ana played innocent. Or she really didn’t know what I was talking about. She made the innocence seem credible. Her body language and her eyes gave nothing away, except that she found the situation amusing. That meant nothing. She found everything amusing.  

So I told Ana I was going back to work, but that she’d come in at eleven on Wednesday next week. I wanted to see that she’d arranged eight interviews, or had a new job by then. Amna nodded. She said, “Sa’afia thinks it’s hot when you give her orders. She’s right.” 

“Yes, but if Sa’afia doesn’t do as she’s told she gets a sore ass. But you, if you miss that appointment -” 

“Oh, would you? Please.” 

“No. I’d take you back to Court for being in breach of your parole. That’d be no fun at all.”

“You could treat me like you treat Sa’afia.” 

“I could go back to work. You will go straight home, now, and start making phone calls. You’ll have eight interviews done or arranged, or have a new job, by Wednesday.”

That was a voice I only used as a dom, and never as a parole officer. So her teasing had turned me on enough to affect my judgment. Ana knew my domming voice for what it was. “Oh yes. I’ll be so good.”  

Idiot, I thought to myself, of myself, but I said, “You better be.” I left her at the bus stop, and walked back to the office. I thought about Ana doing as she was told. Naked, she’d like to be, and on her knees.

Then I thought, urgently, about the ear structure of African elephants, because I needed not to have an erection. Thinking about elephants’ ears when I’m turned on, and I shouldn’t be, still works. I suppose I’ll eventually start thinking about elephants in inappropriate ways, through the force of association, and I’ll have to come up with some other anaphrodisiac. But there’s a woman on Fox News I’m keeping in reserve.

Ana tightened her grip on my arms. She’d cheered up a little. “Maybe we’ll meet again, when I’ve become a respectable lady. And you’re single.”

I wanted to agree, but there was no answer I could make that wouldn’t be disloyal to Sa’afia. Or to the State of California, whose public I served. So I said what was soonest mended: “Well.” 

She laughed suddenly. “Not too respectable. I’d just look respectable. Except when I was home with you. I’d – I’d shock you.”  

I imagined Ana, waiting for me naked and on her knees, by the front door. I shook that vision away. 

She saw my headshake and misunderstood it. She  protested. “No really! I’d be waiting for you when you got home. I’d be all naked, and on my…” 

“Okay. Stop that now.” Our visions of porno domestic bliss were so similar. Ana smiled, watching me. She couldn’t have her parole officer, but at least she could go on torturing him.

“Ana?” 

“Yes, Jaime?” 

“When you stayed the night on my couch, did you…” She waited, head tilted, a mild frown, waiting to see what I was asking. A woman relaxed, frank and open, with no secrets. I stopped, watching her.  

“Well, did you get up in the night? And get into bed with Sa’afia and me?” 

Ana held my arm again. “Oh, you must have had a good dream.” 

“Well, those are the rules. I don’t even think the rules are wrong, but I’m not going to argue it with you. Because Sa’afia. And because if I became your lover they’d fire me.  Look, Ana, I’m going way over the line even by having this conversation. I could damn near get fired just  for saying ‘pretty little ass.’ But I want to be honest with you.” 

“About my arse?”

The TARDIS of asses: Bigger conceptually than on the outside

“I think we need to get your arse out of this conversation. Deal?”

“Oh, sir.” I didn’t know she could be arch. “Well, it’ll free up a lot of room.”

I looked at her, frowning in disbelief. Then I laughed, explosively, and kept on laughing. Ana joined in. It wasn’t that funny, but we didn’t stop. We made people look.

Eventually, she said, “Did I get you?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that. That was good. Um, Ana.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I can feel more for you than just that you’re a client. I care about you. But I’ve still got limits, Ana.”

She nodded. “All right. But I can’t help how I feel.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been where you are. I know it hurts.” She squeezed the hand I’d given her, and then grabbed my forearms, leaning forward. I was glad the table was between us. 

We looked at each other in silence. I raised my glass of pineapple juice to her and drank, watching her for any sign of embarrassment. There were none. Eventually I said, “Ana? When you said you were on love with me …?” 

The hurt I’d heard in her voice yesterday: there it was in her face. I couldn’t help it. I took her hand. “You meant it, didn’t you?” Ana blinked back tears. They’d arrived so quickly. She nodded, not wanting to speak. I took a long, shaky breath. “And when you asked me if I loved you…” 

“Yeah” Ana looked at the table cloth. “And you told me not to talk about it.” Her mouth quirked. I’d hurt her. 

“Ana, I’m sorry I responded like that. I was trying to protect myself. But you know I love you. Of course I do.” 

“Do you?” She was trying to sound calm, but there was too much hope in her voice. 

“Yes. You know I have to say, ‘yes, but’, though.”

“‘Yes, but.'”

“Look, you know I think you’re lovely. I mean, of course you’re hot, and I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you: you’re lovely. Person. A lovely person. If we’d met under other circumstances, we could have been … Anyway, even if I wasn’t with Sa’afia, there’s my job. I can’t get involved with you.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

“Well, the rule doesn’t even matter, because: Sa’afia. I’m with Sa’afia. But if I put my hands on that pretty little ass -.”

“‘Pretty little ass?'” Some of the light was back in her eyes. “Oh, so you professionals are allowed to say ‘pretty little ass’. Huh. I didn’t even know you’d noticed.”

“You’ve been wiggling it at me for the last eight months, Ana. Yeah, I’ve noticed your ass. It’s, um, pretty. But if I did anything about it they’d fire me.”

“That’s stupid. What are you protecting me from? Having a choice? What if  you should do something about my fucking ass? What if I want you to?”

I sighed.

Workplace gossip is great, but I didn’t want to be in it. So we walked a way from the office to get lunch. My colleagues were short-range browsers, so four blocks was enough to be safe. 

I led Ana to a back table in a sushi booth, done in the very best Japanese kitsch. It was as kawai as baskets of puppies with enormous eyes and white cotton panties. Ana was an entertained as I’d expected by the Disney castle with the electric-powered boat towing little barges that went round and round the moat, each barge carryng a little dish of something weird.

Not a sushi train. Or boat. 

I’d expected her to stick to the crumbed prawns and other Western-friendly boy-food, but she tended to the cephalod and seaweed end of the spectrum. So we ate, and talked about harmless things, while she wanted to talk about being in love with me, and I wanted to ask her if she happened to have sucked my cock recently. 

Eventually an English girl, probably on a backpacking holiday, cleared our plates and asked if there was anything else. Anna made to get up. I gestured for her to sit down again. “No, let’s talk.”

I ordered two pineapple juices.