Story: The Parole Officer, Part 16

Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen

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Amelie woke from a night of confusing erotic dreams to find that her cunt was wet.  But that wasn’t what had woken her.  There was a noise coming from her closet.

She stumbled, nude, from her bed, and opened the closet door.  It was Gail, of course.  She was moaning into her gag – and the reason was clear from the smell.  Gail had wet herself during the night.  Amelie was lucky that the floor of her closet was tile, not carpet.

She instinctively slapped Gail.  “Bad girl!” she snapped.

Then she grabbed Gail by the hair and pulled her out of the closet.

“I don’t have time to clean that now,” she said.  “I barely have time for you to lick my pussy.”

She pulled the gag out of Gail’s mouth.

“Please,” moaned Gail.  “Please let me go.  I won’t tell anyone.”

“I really wish I could,” said Amelie, “but that’s just not going to work, Gail.  I need you to fall in love with Chris, okay?  Just think about how much you’d love to suck his cock and have his babies.  Just… really concentrate on that.  When I believe that you love Chris enough to not report him, then maybe we can let you go.”

She threw Gail onto her bed, and then straddled the poor woman’s face, facing her pussy.  The peanut butter and knife were still close at hand, so she filled Gail’s twat with peanut butter.  It could double as Amelie’s breakfast.

“Now lick,” she instructed Gail, and then bent down to lick her the peanut butter out of Gail’s fuckhole.

Gail was, if anything, more talented at licking cunt than she had been the night before – or possibly Amelie was just hornier – and Amelie found herself cumming against the unwilling girl’s face quickly.  She kept licking Gail for a while – partly to make sure she’d licked up all the peanut butter, but also because she wanted to make Gail cum.  The girl’s mind would break quicker – or, that is, realign itself to Amelie’s interests quicker – if she learned to associated being raped with orgasming.

When she felt Gail begin to tremble and shake, Amelie got up.  She checked that Gail’s wrists and ankles were still well-bound, without cutting off her blood supply.  Then she pulled her back to the closet, and pointed at the puddle of piss.

“I don’t have time to mop it,” she said, “so you’re going to have to lick it up.  I want it all gone by the time I get back, otherwise I’ll have to hurt you, in order to punish you.”

She closed the closet door and went to the kitchen, returning with three bowls, one larger than the other.

She opened the closet again and put the large bowl in one corner.

“That’s your toilet,” she told Gail.

Of the other two bowls, one contained fresh water and the other contained cereal with milk.

“Water and food,” she said.  “Don’t you *dare* spill them.”

She pulled out the clothes that she would need to wear to work, and then went to close the closet again – but paused.

“I’m not gagging you, so that you can lick and eat,” she said, “but the apartment is soundproof, so if you try to scream you’re just wasting your own breath.  Still, I’d prefer to not picture you screaming all day while I’m out, so try and keep the volume down, okay?”

And with that, she closed the closet door, and then very carefully bound the handles together tightly so that it couldn’t be opened.

Part of Amelie’s mind was still reeling from the reality that she was keeping an unwilling woman trapped in her apartment – and using that woman as her sex-toy.  But another part simply understood that she had few real choices, and was getting on with what was practically necessary to keep herself out of jail.

And a third part, of course, was thinking about how pleased Chris, and Ray, and Gary would be to learn that she was willingly raping another woman, like the good little gender-traitor that they all wanted her to become.

She got out her phone and pointed it at her nude body.  “My name is Amelie Raimes, and I am a sex offender,” she said.  Then she sent the resulting film to Ray.

Afterwards, she got dressed and went to work.

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Amelie had almost forgotten her embarrassing nude encounter with her boss, Mr Horner, last night – and his demand that she appear in his office at 9.30 the next morning, and strip nude upon entering.

But the memory returned to her as she rode the bus into work, and she began to shiver with fear.  She was in so deep, with so many men, and she didn’t know how she would ever get out.

Would Mr Horner fire her?  Probably not, or he wouldn’t have told her to strip for him.  But what if he did?  How would her clients react if she lost her job – and they suddenly had to deal with a new parole officer who wasn’t as ridiculously lenient as Amelie?  Would they take revenge on her?  Amelie didn’t think Chris would – but she wasn’t sure about Ray, and she was positive that Gary *would* find her and hurt her, just on principle if nothing else.

And if she was fired she would lose any ability to ever delete her name from the sex offender registry – and it would inevitably be discovered as soon as she tried to apply for any job that required a background check.  She would have to spend the rest of her life working at jobs that didn’t ask questions.

And that was if one of her men didn’t release some of the even-more-incriminating photos, videos and other evidence they had, which implicated her in sexual perversion, breaches of privacy, and – of course – raping an unwilling woman who she was keeping locked in her apartment closet.

Amelie reached the office a little after 9 am – she really shouldn’t have taken the time to rape Gail, as it had made her slightly late – and she practically sprinted from the bus stop to Mr Horner’s office.

She entered, closed the door behind her, and immediately began to disrobe.

Mr Horner was sitting behind his desk, and he watched her undress in silence.  

Once she was fully naked, he finally spoke.

“Amelie Raimes,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” said Amelie, blushing.

“Last night I encountered you in the corridors of this office completely nude,” he said, “with what appeared to be duct tape covering your vulva.”

He said nothing more, and so after a moment of silence, Amelie was forced to say, “Yes, sir.”

“Can you explain that, Amelie?” Mr Horner asked.

She couldn’t.  She didn’t even know where to begin. 

“No, sir,” she mumbled, looking at the ground.  “I… I guess I’m just a slut, sir.”

“That may be true,” said Mr Horner, “but it’s not an explanation.”

There was more silence.

“Further,” continued Mr Horner, when it was clear that Amelie wasn’t going to speak, “after our encounter, I entered your office and made a brief survey of the contents.”

Amelie’s eyes widened, and she made an involuntary squeak.

“Do you know what I found in your office, Amelie?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said Amelie, which was the truth, although she had some guesses.

“Firstly I found three copies of your report on ‘What It Felt Like To Piss On My Clothes In Front Of A Man’,” said Mr Horner.  “Exactly where they should be.  So well done on that front.”

Amelie didn’t dare to breathe a sigh of relief yet, because if Mr Horner had found that, then he had probably found…

“There was also a framed photo of yourself, nude, on your desk,” said Mr Horner, “with the text, ‘I’M A DUMB CUNT’.  And in your magazines I found another nude image of you with the text, ‘I DESERVE TO HAVE MY TITS SLAPPED’.”

Amelie didn’t know what to say.  She certainly couldn’t explain it.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“*Are* you a dumb cunt, Amelie?” asked Mr Horner.

He had caught her with nude photos of herself in her work office. 

“Clearly I am, sir,” she said.

“And *do* you deserve to have your tits slapped, Amelie?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Amelie.

“Amelie,” said Mr Horner, “I have to ask: are you fucking your clients?”

This was it.  Amelie could lie – but would Mr Horner believe it?  Would it even matter?  Or she could tell the truth.  What would happen then?  Would Mr Horner help her?  Fire her?

She made a distressed noise.

“You really *are* a dumb cunt, Amelie,” said Mr Horner.  “Because if the answer were no, you would have said that immediately.  So yes, you are fucking your rapist clients, like a whore.  Correct?”

“Some of them, sir,” Amelie admitted.

“Are they blackmailing you, Amelie?” said Mr Horner.  “Do they have compromising material on you?”

Amelie felt like crying.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Have they made you do anything illegal, Amelie?” said Mr Horner.

She *was* crying now.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Have they asked you to compromise *me*?” asked Mr Horner.  “Or this agency?”

Did entering herself on the sex-offender registry count?  It didn’t matter – she wasn’t going to admit to that.

“No, sir,” she said.

“Very well,” said Mr Horner.  “Then frankly, Amelie, this is *your* problem.  I’ve made my thoughts about the competency of women as parole officers very clear in the past.  In fact, I have my doubts about asking women to perform any task more complex than spreading her legs, cleaning a house, or cooking a meal.  You’re not the first pretty young slut to make a complete mess of her job in this agency.”

“Are you going to fire me, sir?” asked Amelie.

“Do you think I *should* fire you, Amelie?” he replied.

Amelie was at a loss.  Her honest answer was that yes, he obviously should fire her.  She had forsaken her duties.  She had committed crimes.  She was naked in her boss’ office.

But if she was fired now, in a best case scenario her career was over, and in a worst case scenario she would go to jail and/or be subject to revenge from one or more of her clients.

“No, sir,” she lied, her eyes still filled with tears.

“No?” said Mr Horner.  “And why do you think I would choose not to fire you?”

There was really only one answer Amelie could give.  Especially given that she was naked and crying.

“Because… I’ll suck your cock, sir,” said Amelie, sniffling.

“Will you?” said Mr Horner.  “Show me.”

Amelie immediately dropped to all fours and crawled across the ground towards Mr Horner.  She pawed at his crotch with her hands, managing to undo his belt and then unbutton and unzip his pants.  She pulled his cock – already rock-hard – from his underwear, and eagerly took it into her mouth.

She looked up at him, desperate to see approval, as she slurped and bobbed her head on his dick.

“This is adequate, I suppose,” said Mr Horner.  “From now on you should check first thing every morning, and last thing before you leave, on whether I want my cock sucked.  Do you understand?”

She nodded, her mouth still full of dick.

It didn’t actually feel that bad.  She liked the taste of Mr Horner’s cock.  She liked the fact that she was being useful, and that she was pleasing him.  He had looked so pitiless when he had been talking to her before, but now there was the hint of approval – and even happiness – in his expression.  She had caused that to happen, by sucking his cock like a good girl.

Mr Horner stroked her hair with one hand – and then, after a while, as his orgasm approached, he used both hands to grab fistfuls of her hair, and began pulling her head back and forth on his cock, using her as a masturbatory tool, slamming her nose into his waist and shoving his cock so far down her throat that she started to gag.  Her eyes crossed and she felt dizzy.

And then, just as she was worrying that she didn’t have enough air to breathe, he orgasmed, and she felt her mouth flood with his hot sperm.  It was the taste of his approval, and she swallowed eagerly. 

He pulled his cock out and wiped it clean on her face.

“Put your clothes on, Amelie,” he said.  “You look like a slut.  You have clients to supervise.”

And she did.

Specifically, in a little less than two hours, she would be once again face-to-face with Ray Batsby.

And she hoped that she could make him as pleased as she just had with her boss.

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