One swallow doesn’t make a spring #19

Posted on June 12, 2013 by jaime

Svitlana seemed to be spent. But in that strange way that you sometimes know things that you haven’t been told, or shown, I knew that she needed more, and this time she didn’t want to be in control of her body. My fingers, still inside her, pushed up against the upper wall of her cunt. Svitlana grunted, a sleeping ship pushed by a tug. I pressed my thumb against her lips and bore down, finding her clit and hurting her. Svitlana opened her eyes and sighed. With my fingers pushing up against the spongy upper wall, and my thumb pushing down I could squeeze her cunt, and I did so, in a long, slow rhythm. Svitlana stretched, pressed her cunt hard against my hand and stayed with me. The good ship Svitlana was under way. Slowly.

I said, “Greedy girl.” I meant I was happy with her. She caught my eyes for a second, but said nothing. She closed her eyes to focus on something deep inside her.There was an extra reserve of lust in her, and she was connecting with it. She began to work with more urgency.

A few minutes later she was sweating with effort, every muscle in her body tight and relentlessly moving. My hand hurt, and I was getting cramp, but I stayed with her, pushing her hard.

Svitlana’s third scream was the loudest, and it shrilled the room until it died away in a wail of something like pain or despair, though it was neither of those things. She opened her eyes and looked at me in something like terror. I stroked her from inside one more time, fondly, and let her be still.

Svitlana subsided, lying back. Smugly half-smiling, she pulled me down onto her breasts and stroked my shoulders and the back of my head. She was supremely happy. So was I, though I was massaging the cramps pout of my right hand.

I kissed her breast and then bit her lightly when she tried to get her nipple further into my mouth. I suckled her, taking some more of her generous breast into my mouth. Svitlana pursed her lips, fearing that I was going to bite her harder. I bit her harder.

Her breath hissed, indrawn at the hurt, then she relaxed and moaned when I bit harder, grazing the nipple between my teeth.

I repeated with the other nipple, and Svitlana moved her hips, under me. She was ready to be fucked again.

But it was time to make her skin sing to her. I wanted her skin to burn like fire. I wanted her red, and I wanted to hear her whimper. With the right kind of pain, an awakening hurt. I considered whether to use my belt, or just my hand.

Probation officer #10: still going on about tears and erections

Posted on May 4, 2013 by jaime

I’ve left this story for a while, while I wrote about tears.

But there I was, a junior probation officer, 23 years old to my client Ana’s 18 years, and Ana was soaking my shirt with tears, dribble and all those other effluvia. I had my arm around her shoulders, and she turned her head this way and that while she wailed, as though she wanted to rub her nose on my buttons. We were parked by the river like a courting couple, because I was a very stupid 23 year old probation officer, and I’d thought we needed to talk privately.

Career-wise, I was a dead man, probably. This is a dead man’s chest joke.

I’d been squeezing and relaxing Ana’s shoulders and talking soothing nonsense, as you do with a baby. I remembered the way women lightly smack the bottoms of babies when they hold them, which seems to be a way of reassuring them that everything is okay. That brought back the incredibly vivid fantasy I’d had only half an hour before, of what it would be like to put Ana over my knee, get those shorts down and spank her till she promised to behave.

Or, because fantasy is a slippery thing, it became about what it would be like to spank her until she was wriggling about, her light-brown little bottom tinged with red warmth, her thighs parted and her cunt petite but open and glazed with yearning, until she had my cock where we wanted it.

I shook my head again, and thought intently about the ear structure of the African elephant, which usually stopped erections in their tracks. Ana was still crying into my shirt, though the volume had muted, and she seemed more relaxed.

I could think again. I’d meant to talk to her about the police harassment, and that it was clearly intended to get her into jail. Eventually some judge was going to look at her charge sheet, and not notice the quality of what was on there: only the width. We’d come here to talk about that, about how to stop it. I more or less a professional again, and not just a young man with dom tendencies and an incredibly pretty and exasperating girl. I was proud of getting myself back under control, and that I’d managed to kill the erection before Ana could have noticed.

I said, because it was time to call her back to the world, “Ana? Ana, are you okay?”

Ana said nothing, and didn’t move. I waited, and her shoulder twitched. Her face was still pressed against me. She shook a little, and I expected more sobs. Eventually I realised she was laughing. Giggling. “Aue. Oh man.”

“What? Are you okay?”

I thought you’d like a picture of the new headquarters of the Chinese People’s Daily. No really. It is.

More giggles. She was still in my shirt, not looking at me. “You had a rere.”

“What?”

“Rere ure. You had a stiffie.” She said it in singsong, like a child’s taunt. “You got me out of the copshop, and you got a stiffie.”

“Oh.” I thought about other jobs I could do, after being fired from this one. “Oh.”

Probation officer #6

Posted on April 26, 2013 by jaime

The call from the desk sergeant had come in after the Probation Office had closed. All the official Probation Service cars were out, so if i were going to collect Ana it’d have to be in my own transport. I had a British Bedford van, twice my age though better at starting in the morning.

The cops would laugh at me when I drove the van into their yard. If one of them was in the mood he could find a dozen reasons why it shouldn’t be allowed on the road, and why I should be charged, even arrested if they felt like it, for having driven it. So I’d have my prisoner, Ana, and I’d be stranded. It would be a good way to get me fired.

But it was a choice of taking that risk or leaving Ana locked up overnight. It turned out that the cops were happy enough to see me driving an old wreck. I’d given them a laugh. So they let me sign for Ana, then wait while a policewoman went and got her. This time she’d been charged with a real crime, more or less. She stolen a butterfly hair clip from a department store, and then run off.

When I led Ana out of the watchroom and into the police car park, she looked around for the car I’d have. She was incredulous when it turned to be the Bedford. She knew people with vehicles like that, and they weren’t involved in law enforcement.

So we sat side by side in our bucket seats until we were safely away from the police yard. She said, “thank you. I didn’t think anyone was coming to get me.” She smiled at me, for the first time ever. But I was angry with her.

Inappropriate.

In fact, I realised, I wanted to put Ana over my knee. I wanted to tell her she was a silly, self-destructive little brat, and tug down the little frayed jeans she wore. Then I’d smack her golden little bottom until she was kicking and crying. And then I might stroke her ass while she listened to me, though by the time I’d thought that far ahead, her fantasy self was naked, embarrassed and kind of excited.

That train of thought, and some of its ramifications, stayed in my mind for only about a second while I remembered that I was supposed to be some sort of professional. I shook my head and made a sound, “nnnh”, to clear that vision out. I wondered if she’d heard men make that sound before.

Anyway, the erection I was sporting had taken about a second to arrive, and it was taking longer to go away. I forced myself not to look to check if it was visible.