I expect word has got around among the petty criminals on our patch that I'm the best probation officer to have. I'm not adverse to substituting a good bare-bottom smacking for the bureaucratic nightmare of reporting to the panel every time they break one of the terms of their order, that's true. So it wasn't a big surprise when I found Sean had been transferred to my list.
"Michael said you were the one", he proffered.
Michael Flynn is 'Mr Big' round here. I don't suppose he gives much detail to his gang members, but Michael and I have a very pleasant relationship based on his need for a certain amount of freedom to pursue his nightly jobs and mine for continual use of his rather magnificent buttocks. I looked at Sean's file.
"Tut, tut! You realise you haven't been obeying the terms ... "
"OK", he said, and without another word began to undo his belt. One of these days I'm going to come an almighty cropper, I know, with loss of job, lots of very unwelcome attention in the press, and perhaps the nick will be opening its gates for me too. But the urge is too strong, it's all too addictive.
Whereas Michael is buxom, blond and handsome, Sean is more of the small, dark ferret type. Still, as the jeans came down I noticed with interest that he only wore a thong, in imitation leopardskin. And I was astounded at the perfect shape of his arse, smooth enough, smallish, but deliciously round and inviting. I hoped it wasn't due to the thong alone, and I eased it down his compact thighs. To my relief, the cheeks protruded beautifully from the curve of his lower back.
"Over", I said and he dutifully draped himself over my knees, rather elegantly. I pulled his yellow tee-shirt right up to his shoulders. I like to get a purchase on the back.
I started with some gentle taps and I could feel him responding. The cheeks were quivering a bit, but still, it was his first time with me. Not the last, boy!
I got going then, not taps, not pats, but stinging slaps and echoing smacks, as I made the little criminal jerk and strain, clenching his arse. He wasn't used to it, I could tell. He clenched when my hand was raised but had relaxed when the hand made contact. He was uttering little gasps now. Although his skin was the tanned kind (no pun intended) I could see the cheeks were red underneath, inflamed, and I guessed they'd be rather sore. And there beads of sweat in the small of his back. Good!
I concentrated on that lovely area where the upper thighs spread and swell, bringing my palm down hard on each bouncing ball. I had got my rhythm. I spanked him mercilessly, till the swelling was more than the Lord had originally endowed him with, it was a painful, heaving, bruised mass, that arse of his.
"Please, Sir ... "
I considered, calculating. But, no, I was enjoying it too much. So I just carried on. Where he had shown signs of blushing under the tan before, he was now white-faced and moaning. The bottom felt like crushed fruit now, and there was even a faint fruity smell about him. Aftershave? Down there? Eventually my arm got tired, it always does. I let him lie there trembling a while, before I stood him up, raised his thong, being careful to adjust him under it, and told him to pull up his jeans. There were tear marks on his face but he was slowly recovering his composure, and he began blushing again.
"Oh, I forgot, Sir. Michael is having a branding party tonight, He's expecting you round."
That's what it was. He had a little branded mark on the inside of his leg, I had noticed. It was well done, with one of those heated wire contraptions they use. I had been able to read it as his legs writhed with the torrent of smacks I'd given him. It had said ' MGF '.
"What's Michael's middle name?" I said casually.
"Oh, Gabriel", he chuckled. "Don't tell him I told you. He's sensitive about it. He'd kill me if he knew."
I'm going to a party tonight, you remember. Is this good news or bad?