It was a cold day, and once I’d dragged Sa’afia inside we’d gone straight for my bedroom. I’d left a heater on, so that once I’d closed the door she could be naked and still comfortable.

I pull Sa’afia’s dress up over her breasts, and then further so that it covered her head and trapped her arms. While she was helpless I pushed her so she landed on my bed, and I was on her and in her before she had recovered. The fuck was fast and extravagant, with nothing withheld or concern given for time or her pain or our energy. I struck her thighs as they pressed against my sides, wanting to rewaken the fire where I had already bruised her with her stick. She’d gasped, and those gasps had become orgasmic cries, her cunt contracting hard.

I stayed with her while she came, and pulled her dress all the way off. She face re-emerged, tousled. I said, “oh, there you are,” as if I was playing peek-a-boo with a baby. She stared at me without smiling, or answering, from a place where she didn’t know anything about words.

I started our fuck again. She began to scream a few minutes later, as the orgasms came in waves, each a little higher. I have stupid, nerdish prides of every kind, but I soon lost count. She didn’t stop. It seemed that she came with every movement we made.

She’d raised her knees to press against her sides, to get my cock into her as deep as it could go. We were in some magic place; I’d never known her, or any woman in this state before.

Eventually her orgasms got smaller, and I stopped through sheer exhaustion. Her hair was wet with sweat and so was mine. the bottom sheet had been crisp and it too was soaked with our sweat and her pleasure. I could feel my heart pumping, and hers below me. We’d run in some contest, which we’d eventually lost. I felt triumphant. 

I blew a lock of hair away from Sa’afia’s eyes. She looked at me, for the first time in what felt like a long, long time. I wanted to say something fond. I said, “Whoa. My god.” 

Sa’afia muttered something. It sounded like like, “it-pee.” 

I kissed her nose. “What?” 

“Hurt me.” 

“Ah?”

“Whip me.” 

I looked at her. She wasn’t saying anything to please me. She wasn’t capable, just then, of planning her speech for another’s benefit. She wanted all the sensation in the world. I pulled out of her. “Just a moment.” 

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.”