Probation Officer #99: The lick of love

Posted on November 1, 2013 by jaime

I stopped tonguing. Sa’afia made a little sound of protest, so I clambered up till I was on my knees between her spread thighs. I pulled up her right thigh, looking down at her, and smacked the underside, as high as I could reach.

Sa’afia said, “Oh.” As though she’d just understood something. She didn’t struggle, but watched me intently, as I brought my hand down again. Cool, her thigh was, and firm. I smacked her again, just as hard. My palm on her thigh was loud. Sa’afia was silent.

She bit her lip, still staring into my eyes. This was what a man looked like when he spanked her. She hadn’t been able to watch my face before. I suppose I looked fierce, and single-minded.

After another four hard smacks her skin was less cool to my touch. She was finding it hard to keep still when every instinct made her want to wriggle away. After the seventh smack she made her little sound, a sorrowful-sounding “oooh”, sweet, low and similar to the sounds she made when she was about to come. It was her pained, pleasured noise, and there was no sorrow in it. I already knew that I loved that sound, and it would always be hard for me to stop while she was making it.

Eventually we both lost count, somewhere after the fortieth smack. Her right thigh burned to the touch. I’d left her left thigh alone. I smiled down at Sa’afia, because she was beautiful and, just then, entirely, utterly, mine. She smiled uncertainly back. She was wet, glazed and shiny wet, wetter than she’d been while I was tonguing her. But my hand was really hurting her.

I put that hand, the hand I’d hurt her with, to her mouth so she could feel how warm it was. Her own warmth.

She kissed my palm, then put her tongue out and licked it.

She understood.

Probation Officer #98: The navel and the cunt

Posted on October 31, 2013 by jaime

I pushed Sa’afia so she tumbled back, falling on pillows, her eyes still on me. Air rushed out where she landed. She put her arms above her head and said, “whoo.”

But if she stretches, the crease disappears.

I said, “You didn’t want to hear about your belly button before. Too late to ask now. Anyway, it was that crease I liked. And it’s gone.” I kissed where it used to be.

Then I kissed lower. Sa’afia sighed, after a while, and rested her hand on the back of my head. She was wet, and she pushed her cunt into my face and wriggled until she was comfortable. She felt it was important that I had access. Tongue access, lip access, tip of my nose access.

Such a helpful girl.

A minute or two later she rubbed her inner thighs against the stubble on my face, as affection and because she liked the roughness.

The hand on the back of my head pressed down, and then toyed with my hair and then ceased to do anything coherent. She was breathing hard.

If I pinched her nipples, I knew, she would come. She smelled ready, and there was an edge, a sense of precipice, to her breathing. She scratched her thighs on my face. I liked her thighs. I was in a good place. Then I considered the way she was using my face to hurt herself. I thought about that for a second. I didn’t pinch her nipples.

Probation Officer #97: The navel

Posted on October 21, 2013 by jaime

I sat up on Sa’afia’s bed, watching her swallow the last of her tea. I’d drunk mine, but she’d been talking about Ana’s father and the cops. It explained why the cops hated him, and that they were, as I’d thought, trying to get at him through his daughter. She finished her tea and her story, and put the cup down. She said, at last, “So?”

Eventually I said, “Thank you. That’s incredibly helpful.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think that crease in your tummy, just below your belly button, is just fucking beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Amazing. Fuckable.”

Sa’afia gave me the full eye-roll. “Don’t make me wonder what I even see in you. What do you think about Ana’s tama?”

I looked at the sheets between us.

“Y’know, I thought I was cynical but I’m actually shocked. I mean, the cops here, they can be fascists. No, they are fascists, literally. They’ll frame people if they think they’re guilty but they can’t prove it. They’ll bash up protestors just on principle. And they’ll beat up suspects if they can’t get a conviction, just to punish them. Like that.”

Sa’afia nodded patiently.

“But y’know, I didn’t really think the cops – . No, I don’t mean ‘cops’, and I don’t mean LA cops; I just mean, the guys in this precinct, that’s all. I didn’t think when they break the law it’d be over money.”

“You think money’s trivial, don’t you?”

“Oh, look, I know it’s not. I wouldn’t be a parole officer if they didn’t pay me.” Sa’afia glanced at me. She was thinking that I could do something that paid better. It was true, but she let it pass.“But yeah, the local cops, they’ll never be friends of mine. But I know them a bit. They’re fascists, but if you’d asked me, seriously, I’d have said they weren’t corrupt. I’m just surprised they threw away so much self-respect for so … little. That’s all.”

Sa’afia said, “Oh, bless.” She reached over and touched my mouth. “I hope you’re not so naive you’ll just get Ana in worse trouble now. She’s not going to be happy with me anyway, that I’ve told you about this.”

“Well, she won’t find out from me. Or the cops. And yeah, I can be naive, but I do know how to do some things. I won’t use this unless I know what I’m doing and what the outcome will be.”

Sa’afia looked at me. “Maybe. You might know some things. Maybe. So what were you saying about my belly button?”

Probation Officer #96:

Posted on October 13, 2013 by jaime

So Sa’afia didn’t really hit me. But she did say, “You’re with me. Can’t you forget about about fucking Ana for a fucking second?”

I got up on my elbow and looked at her. She had hurt in her eyes. I felt anger at myself for that, and fortunately the anger was what showed up on my face. I said, “I’ve got to see the cops tomorrow. Mostly I’m seeing them about a flasher. That’s a long story and I can’t tell you anyway.”

“What the fuck have flashers got to do with it?”

“Nothing. Wait, okay? And I’m bringing the head of Probation with me, because he’s interested in the flasher. Okay? So I’ll never have so much power again, or not for a long time, when I’m talking with the cops. And I’m going to do an ambush. While I’m at that meeting I’m going to get them to stop hassling Ana, once and for all. You have a problem with that?”

You’d really rather be talking?

“Don’t be horrible. Of course I haven’t. You didn’t tell me anything about this.”

This was true. “Okay. That’s true, and I’m sorry. But I asked you about Ana’s father, not Ana. And I asked while I still remembered, because I’m bound to forget it. Because I’m with you.”

“Nice try.” But she was a bit happier. “What about Ana’s tama?”

“Tama, yeah. As far as I can see, Ana’s never committed a crime that’d get any other girl arrested. But she’s got this long criminal records full of bullshit charges. I’m thinking that someone’s using Ana to get at her … tama. You see? So I’m asking, why would the cops hate Ana’s father?”

Sa’afia sighed. The sex we’d been having, and that we should continue having, was better than this. She said, “Okay. Make me a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you about it.” That bit is true. See? I told you she was full of feist.

Probation Officer #95F: Prometheus Unbound

Posted on October 12, 2013 by jaime

We have bound thee, we guide thee;                          
                Down, down!
        With the bright form beside thee;
            Resist not the weakness,
        Such strength is in meekness
        That the Eternal, the Immortal,
        Must unloose through life's portal
        The snake-like Doom coiled underneath his throne
                By that alone.

Probation Officer #95E: Assertiveness and submission

Posted on October 11, 2013 by jaime

Neither Sa’afia nor I could have wanted to punch the other, even as mock-violence, even as an affectionate “joke”.

In sex, Sa’afia wanted to give her surrender and to have her surrender taken. She wanted to be given orders and to feel herself obeying them. She wanted me to find reasons to punish her, so that she could feel that she had no choice when she obeyed and served me. It wasn’t enough to surrender: she wanted to feel it. She wanted her surrender to be palpable, something she could wrap around herself like a cloak.

Dominance and submission is about tightly focussed attention.

I wasn’t very experienced in bdsm. I had a lot to learn. But at least I knew ways to let her feel her surrender, and intensify her experience. While we were exploring those feelings together she didn’t want to be anything as trivial as “feisty”. She was strong and courageous. Even waiting for me, naked in her kitchen simply because I’d told her to over the phone, was extremely brave.

She could have ignored that instruction and our evening would still have been good. We’d still have found our way to bed, and I probably would have smacked her bottom lightly. I’d have done it after her first orgasm, when we were building to her second, and I thought it’d be a safe experiment: she’d like pretty much anything I did.

So we’d still have explored some very light surrender, but it would have been a much safer and flatter night.

She chose the riskier option, a definite, explicit act of obedience. It could have gone wrong. She must have worried that I might laugh at her, or that I’d take her surrender and do something stupid and cruel that genuinely hurt. She put her dignity and her safety on the line for what she wanted. That pushed us past various polite pretences and it pushed me up to match her courage. I had to take back the lead, take her surrender, and make her feel it.

What a submissive does when they kneel to serve their dominant, or they present themselves to be fucked or hurt, may not look like any traditional picture of courage. But it’s honest, assertive and brave.

At other times, Sa’afia and I would be shopping together, and she might laugh at the clothes I wanted to buy, or my taste in music. Then she might be playful, and do “feisty” like a fucking Disney fucking princess, as she’d have said. But in sex she preferred something stronger than feist.

Probation Officer #95D: Standing while kneeling

Posted on October 10, 2013 by jaime

Sa’afia wasn’t just a dolly who’d do whatever she’s told. She was a submissive woman. She did things that she liked, that turned her on.

She stood up for herself, even when she knelt. Or bent over to be spanked or fucked, knowing that she wouldn’t choose which happened. But that was something she wanted. I provided it for her.

When it’s moving right, bdsm connects the people involved with incredible intensity and intimacy.

It’s a sententious thing to say, but bdsm is the opposite of violence.

Probation Officer #95C: Samoan nipples?

Posted on October 9, 2013 by jaime

It’s always nice to talk about nipples, isn’t it? For example, the German word for “nipple” isn’t really “Brustwart”, or “breast wart”: it’s “Nippel”. Now, here’s the thing about Sa’afia’s nipples. They’d be purple-black and flat when she was resting, but when I kissed and squeezed them and they woke up, they’d perk up, all erect and yearning to be kissed and bitten. And they’d turn from purple-black to purple-pink.

I loved making that happen. Now, she wouldn’t have had nipples like that if she wasn’t Samoan, or didn’t have Polynesian ancestry. But were they Samoan nipples? Nah, they were just Sa’afia’s.

Her mouth was wide and her lips sweetly full. And there were freckles, for heaven’s sake, on her forehead and cheeks and nose, under the brown. She owed those things to her Polynesian ancestry too, and I thought they were wonderful.

I liked things about her that were Samoan culturally, though not genetic. Her body was slightly shiny when she was naked because she rubbed herself with cocoanut oil. When I licked her she smelled of cunt and cocoanut.

I liked the tapa cloth on her wall, depicting her parents’ village. I liked the little carved canoe with sea-shell eyes, on her bedside table. Even the care she took not to make her mother have to admit she was having sex appealed to me. For no reason except that it was different. Those things were hers because she was Samoan, too. But I liked them because I liked her. Not the other way around.

Sa’afia’s other fear was that I was with her only because I really wanted Ana, and I couldn’t have Ana. That I was fucking her because she resembled her cousin. That was the nerve I’d touched when I’d asked her about Ana’s father.

Probation Officer 95B: Sa’afia didn’t actually punch me

Posted on October 8, 2013 by jaime

When I said Sa’afia hit me, I was trying to make two points. Both of which were true. The first was that Sa’afia was hurt when I asked her a question about Ana, while we two were in the middle of doing something very intense and sexually powerful. I’d re-awoken her worry that I was with her for reasons that weren’t about her.

I’d got her to suspend disbelief on one of her worries, which was that I might be interested in her because she was Samoan. There were white boys who went after Samoan girls, because they thought they were easy, or they had a fetish-y thing for them, or whatever. She wanted always to be certain that I liked and desired the individual she was: Sa’afia.

She was right to give me the benefit of the doubt on that one. I do and think lots of dodgy things, but I’ve never found that I get turned on, or turned off, a woman because of her race. Once we were lovers, then I liked the brown of her skin and the shape of her nose, slightly broad and slightly snub, and I loved the firmness of her flesh and the strength of her body. I loved a lot of things, some of which were Samoan things.

Actually, there was something I really liked about her nipples, but I’ll save that for tomorrow.

Probation Officer #95A: “You’re with me!”

Posted on October 7, 2013 by jaime

[The project is done and the cheque’s in the ether. I hope. So I can get back to the Probation Officer story. In the last episode, we got as far as this:]

Sa’afia froze. Immobility is not affectionate. Then she hit my shoulder, hard, with her fist. She said, “you’re with me. Can’t you forget about fucking Ana for a fucking second?”

Update: This is a true story. So far I’ve only changed details to make sure my client Ana and her cousin Sa’afia can’t be identified, even by someone who managed to work out where it was that I worked as a probation officer. It’d be pretty hard to identify Svitlana, too.

But in that post, the one I quoted above, I’ve told a lie. I think it’s the first genuinely and gratuitously untrue thing I’ve said. I was trying to improve the story: Conflict! And look, she’s not just submissive; she’s feisty! Hey! But the truth is that Sa’afia never hit me and she would never have wanted to. Even if she was angry.

Neither Sa’afia nor I knew much about dominance or submission, really, though I’d had more experience than her. She knew what she wanted, and I knew enough to be able to guess roughly what she wanted and provide her with it. She could be a wonderful version of herself in that place I’d provided. She’d been incredibly happy, when her ass burned from the rod and she knelt to suck my cock. She’d wanted to know what that was like, and she’d known she’d like it. She also knew that I would treasure her, when she served me, and she wanted to feel treasured.

In that place and in that mood she couldn’t feel anger. She could only be angry if I behaved so badly that I shocked her out of submission and back to normal time, to everyday life.

So no, she didn’t hit me.