Story: The Parole Officer, Part 5

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four

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Ray Batsby didn’t waste any time at his next appointment with Amelie.

“Do you have the bitch’s address?” he demanded.

He had taken the interview chair in Amelie’s office, and dragged it to the far corner of the room.  If Amelie sat at her desk, she would be ludicrously far away from him – and, perhaps more importantly, Ray would take it as a sign of disrespect.  And Ray *hated* disrespect.

So Amelie nervously stood in front of him, not quite knowing where to be.

“Yes, sir,” she said.  She handed him the piece of paper, on which she had written the address of Taylah, the woman whose rape and impregnation had landed Ray in prison. 

He looked at it, chuckled, and put it in his pocket.  “Good girl,” he said.  And then, “Kneel.”

His tone went straight past Amelie’s rational thought, and she found herself dropping to her knees instinctively and submissively.

She blushed.  Everything about this was so wrong.  She was a parole officer.  She was supposed to be in control.  She was supposed to be telling men like Ray what to do, and how to behave – and sending them back to prison if they didn’t play along – and instead, somehow, she had come to submit to them, to obey their instructions, to allow them to degrade and humiliate her, and help them spy upon their victims.

“Did betraying this bitch make your panties wet, cunt?” asked Ray.

“No!” protested Amelie, blushing.  It was a ridiculous question…

.. and yet, it had made her a little excited.  It had been so *wrong* to go looking for Taylah’s address – and Taylah had turned out to be surprisingly pretty.  And, of course, she watched the video of Ray raping Taylah, that had been filmed by Ray himself, and used to convict him.  And she had masturbated.  

Not just once, but several times.  She had watched it again that morning, knowing Ray was coming in for his appointment.

Ray looked at Amelie – and to her alarm, she saw his face was turning red, flushing an ugly, angry colour.  And suddenly, before she could react, he had stood from his chair, and crossed the distance to her, and grabbed her hair in an iron grip.

SLAP!  His hand cracked across her face – and then again, and again.  SLAP!  SLAP!

“Don’t you LIE TO ME, you CUNT!” he spat.  His voice wasn’t that loud – if it had been, someone else in her office might have heard it – and yet he spoke with such viciousness, such raw fury, that it felt like he was screaming.  

Amelie flinched, and felt tears forming in her eyes.

“I will not put up with you being a LYING CUNT like that BITCH, Taylah, do you understand me?” asked Ray, still holding her hair.  He was practically frothing at the mouth.

“Yes, sir,” whimpered Amelie.  “I’m sorry, sir.”  She didn’t know how Taylah had lied, exactly – after all, Ray HAD raped Taylah…

Ray must have seen the question in her eyes.  “The bitch lied about not enjoying the rape.  All bitches enjoy rape.  It’s their purpose.”

His voice softened.  “You’re not going to be a lying bitch for me, are you, Amelie?”

“No, sir,” whispered Amelie.

“Then give me your panties, and show me the truth,” said Ray.  He let go of her hair, and sat back down in his chair.

Amelie hesitated only a moment, before rising up from her knees, and tugging her panties down from under her skirt.  She wiggled them over her knees, then down her legs and off, and passed them to Ray in his chair.

There was, as he had guessed, a damp spot in the crotch.

He sniffed the damp area, making Amelie blush, and laughed.

“You see?” he asked her.  “Women live to be raped, deep down.  They know it’s their biological purpose.  They’ve been trained by society to pretend they don’t want it, they don’t like it – but they do.  When they get raped, they get wet – and when they see another girl getting raped, they get wet too, because they’re excited to see women finding their truth.”

Amelie had nothing to say about the awful misogynistic idea – but she didn’t dare contradict Ray.  She just kept her head down, looking at Ray’s polished black shoes.

“You learned to submit very quickly, Amelie,” said Ray.  “Do you like submitting?”

She wanted to say no.  She didn’t want to sink further into this trap she was in.  She had already betrayed so much.  Her other client, Gary had made her secretly enter her own name on the sex offender register.  She had spied on her client’s victims.  She needed to stop letting her rapist clients boss her around.

And yet the truth was she *did* enjoy submitting.  It made her feel whole and complete in a way that she had never felt before – like it was *right*.  Having these men tell her to do things – often humiliating, degrading things – felt both natural and exciting.

But perhaps it didn’t matter what the truth was.  She knew what Ray wanted her to say.  And he would slap her again if he was angry.  So she needed to please him.

“Yes, sir,” she said.  “I like submitting.”

“Come closer,” said Ray.

She crawled across the floor for the few metres necessary to be directly at Ray’s feet.

“Good girl,” he said.  He adjusted his pants, and took out his cock.  It was the first time she had seen his cock in the flesh – and the view of it in the rape video had been from a distance, and blurry – and she was surprised by its size and thickness.  It was hard, of course, and Amelie knew what was coming even before Ray put his hand in her hair and pulled her down towards his crotch.

She opened her mouth obediently, took his cock inside her, and began to suck.

Ray sighed with satisfaction.  “Good bitch,” he said, and began to stroke her hair.

Amelie blushed.  Despite everything, it felt pleasing to be told she was good – even if it was a “good bitch” or a “good cunt”.  It was so easy to *anger* Ray, that actually earning his approval felt special.  She sucked eagerly at his cock.  After all, the sooner she made him cum, the sooner he might leave her office, and bring this degradation to an end.

“The problem with bitches today,” said Ray, “is that no one teaches them how to properly submit.  And so bitches like you, who *want* to submit, spend their lives unhappy, because they don’t know how to do it properly.”

He looked down at her.  “Would you like me to teach you how to submit properly, bitch?”

With a mouthful of his cock, and her cheek still burning from where he had slapped her, there was only one appropriate response.  She nodded her head, with his cock still in her mouth, to signify “yes”.

“Good bitch,” he said.  “Well, it’s a lot to cover, so we’ll just start with a few rules today, and you can practice until our next meeting.”

“Rule number one,” he began.  “Men are never wrong.  You do not contradict a man, you do not imply a man is incorrect.  If you have an opinion that contradicts a man, you push it out of your head and forget it.  And if a man does something that makes you think he might be obliged to apologise, you are incorrect, and you should apologise yourself, to remove that tension.”

He used her hair to pull her tighter against his groin.  Amelie made a muffled noise, and tried not to gag as his cock pushed into her throat.

“So, for example,” he continued, “if a man walks in on you while you’re in the toilet, with your skirt around your waist, and your panties at your ankles, you should immediately say, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’  If a man deliberately pushes you, so that you fall down, for his entertainment, you should say, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’  Do you understand?”

She nodded again, as best as she could.

“Rule number two: you call males ‘sir’,” he said.  “Every male, in every circumstance.  You call your boss ‘sir’.  You call your father ‘sir’.  You call the 16-year-old boy at the supermarket checkout ‘sir’.  You call male dogs ‘sir’.  Every male, everywhere, is your superior, and you treat them accordingly.  Do you understand?”

She nodded again, and tried to pretend it didn’t feel so *right* to be kneeling with a mouthful of cock, hearing an old man instruct her on how to do embarrassing, misogynistic things.

“Rule number three: your biological functions are less important than serving men,” he said, fucking his cock deeper into her mouth.  “If you’re in a building with a man, or in a man’s company, you don’t eat or go to the toilet without getting permission from a man.”

Amelie whimpered and kept sucking.

“You’re going to obey those rules, aren’t you, bitch?” asked Ray, looking down at her.

Amelie found herself nodding.  And she knew that she would.  It was insane, it was degrading – and yet some part of her had been craving this since her very first day of submitting to her clients.  Ray was offering her a structure of submission for every day of her life – and she would seize it eagerly, like a drowning swimmer gripping a buoy, even as part of her screamed that it was humiliating, that it was betraying her gender, that it would ruin her life…

“Good bitch,” said Ray, stroking her hair.  “Because I’ll know if you don’t.  You’re not a very good liar, Amelie.  If you don’t behave according to the rules, you’ll give yourself away.  You know that.  And there will be consequences.”

Amelie felt an icy chill in her veins at that word, “consequences” – and then, suddenly, Ray was cumming into her mouth, and Amelie was struggling to swallow his semen as he discharged down her throat.

“Good bitch,” said Ray again, when it was done.  He wiped his cock clean on her face, tucked it away, and stood, doing up his pants.  

Apparently this was the whole of their “interview” for the day – Ray giving her rules, and using her to ejaculate into.  Amelie blushed at the understanding of how bad she was at her job.  

“Please, sir,” she asked, still kneeling, as Ray headed for the door.  “What will you do with the address?  The bitch’s address?”

Ray shrugged.  “Stop by, see how she’s doing,” he said – and then laughed, at Amelie’s look of alarm.

“Discreetly, of course,” he explained.  “She won’t know I’m there.  Maybe I’ll enter her house while she’s out, have a look around, maybe install some cameras.  It’s nothing for you to worry about, bitch.  Just keep your mouth shut and no one will need to ask why you gave me her address.”

And with that, he left.

Amelie thought about the poor girl – pretty Taylah, alone and caring for her rape-baby.  She thought about Ray pawing through Taylah’s underwear, secretly watching her shower and toilet.  She thought about what Ray might do when he decided that watching her wasn’t enough…

The guilt was overwhelming.  And there was only one thing Amelie could do about it.

With a moan of humiliation, Amelie pulled up her skirt and began to masturbate…

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