Probation Violation
- 3 years ago
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On Probation (Chapter 1) free porn video
The driving rain pelted the ground as I emerged from the London Underground and made my way through the crowds of damp commuters towards the office. It was two weeks before Christmas and the shopfronts twinkled with sparkling festoon lighting and colourful gift displays. Despite the terrible weather and the lousy, underpaid job I was headed to, there was nowhere else I’d rather be at that time of year than London.
Clutching my umbrella and weaving my way through the crowds, I felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of the first client meeting I had that day. The half an hour I spent in the company of Liam Hale every Tuesday was the best part of my week. He was the delicious beam of sunshine that cut through the drudgery of the other four working days.
--
The British Probation Service was chronically under-funded and my office certainly reflected that; it wasn’t big enough to swing a cat. A bulky 1980s desk took up three-quarters of the space and there was just room enough for a narrow filing cabinet and an uncomfortable plastic chair for clients.
It was a dreary setup. Ten years ago, I’d wanted to study graduate law, but life had intervened and a lack of finances had killed the idea off. Instead of a hotshot barrister, I’d ended up as a single thirty-year-old, working as a parole officer and living in an overcrowded London house share, fighting a daily battle against a prehistoric hot water boiler and an overstretched transport service.
With ten minutes to spare before Liam arrived, I ran a brush through my long, blonde hair and applied a subtle slick of lipstick, then took a look through his file. There were several photos from his trial inside; it had caused a media frenzy at the time. The press had had a field day photographing the rich and handsome international playboy who had been sentenced to a ten-year stretch for insider trading.
I paused when I came across the shot of him attending court, dressed in a tailored Saville Row suit, brown hair slicked back and eyes covered by designer sunglasses. I’d seen it a million times, but it was the one that turned me on the most. With his tousled hair, broad shoulders and tanned skin, he looked as though he was starring in an aftershave ad, rather than heading to the Old Bailey to learn his fate.
There was a light knock on the door. I snapped the folder closed and straightened up my posture, flattening my blouse and pulling my hair over one shoulder. I adopted what I hoped was a professional-looking pose: pen in hand, his session checklist positioned in front of me.
“Liam! Hi.” I smiled and motioned for him to enter. “Come in.”
“Hey,” he said, briefly meeting my eyes before unbuttoning his overcoat and placing it over the back of the chair. He had on a pair of dark chinos and a grey sweater, and looked as though he had been caught in the rain. “How are you?”
“Good... thanks. How have you been over the last week?” It was my job to ask him the same questions every time we met; pretty much a box-ticking exercise. I liked to get this part out of the way early so we’d have time to chat about other things. “Any luck on the job front?”
He sat down and leaned back in the chair, smiling. Liam and I both knew that he had no intention of finding a job. He probably had millions of pounds stashed away, judging by the heavy Rolex on his wrist and his seemingly never-ending designer wardrobe. But one of his parole conditions was that he attempted to find ‘normal employment’
“Afraid not,” he said. “No one’s hiring ex-cons, even at Christmas.” He flashed a cheeky grin and reached around into his jacket pocket to retrieve a bottle of water.
I ticked the employment box and moved on. “How’s your home life?”
“No changes.”
“Still no partner or significant other?” I hovered my pen over the sheet.
“Nope.”
Liam had been released halfway through his ten-year stretch for good behaviour, on the condition that we met weekly until I saw fit, and that he adhered to the terms set out in his release papers. Intelligent and charismatic, he had so far been the model client; never putting a foot wrong and turning up for every session on time.
“Actually,” he said reaching inside his coat again and producing a brown envelope, “I was wondering if you’d consider lifting my curfew. I’ve completed an application form.” He slid it across the desk.
“Any particular reason?”
“It’s Christmas,” he said, giving a little shrug. “I’m only human. Be nice to stay out past nine. I’ve been good all year.”
“I’m not Father Christmas,” I said, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled at that.
The lifting of Liam’s curfew was unlikely to pose a risk to the general public, but I knew for sure he was a threat to the female population of London during the party season. I felt a jolt between my legs as I imagined him pulling someone in a club and going home to fuck.
I shifted positions and nodded slowly, as though I was studying the paperwork, rather than thinking about him grinding against someone. “OK... application accepted. I’ll lift your curfew. It’s just a temporary reprieve for a month, though, we’ll review it again after that.”
He flashed a smile, sincere and warm. “Thanks, Nat. As far as parole officers go, you’re truly top notch.”
“Hopefully I’ll be the last one you have.”
“Hopefully.”
I stamped the application and slotted it into his file.
“Done.”
“What chocolates do you like?” Liam said a few moments later, leaning back into the seat again, clearly pleased that his application had been approved. He crossed his legs, resting his right ankle on the opposite knee.
My stomach gave a small flutter. I raised an eyebrow and said, “Why? Does this relate to your ability to integrate into the community and become a contributing member of society?”
He gave a sexy side smile and tilted his head. “It relates to my ability to get you a Christmas present. Isn’t that the kind of thing clients do? Seriously, what do you like?”
“Lindt balls.” The words were out before I could stop myself. I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. Why the hell had I said that? Lindt balls.
Liam pressed his lips together, amused, and considered my reply. “Interesting. I had you pegged for a Roses kind of girl, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“There’s really no need...”
The intercom on my desk buzzed, telling me that my next client was waiting at reception; a sixty-year-old kleptomaniac called Donald.
After a year of visits, Liam knew this signalled the end of his session. He rose to his feet and put his overcoat back on, pulling an expensive-looking silk scarf out of the pocket. As he stretched up to thread it round his collar, he exposed a tiny slither of skin between his belt and the hem of his jumper. My pussy tightened involuntarily.
I didn’t want chocolates for Christmas. What I really wanted was for him to bend me over the desk, gently move my damp thong to the side and fuck me harder than I’d ever been fucked before. But I supposed that a box of chocolates would have to suffice.
“See you next week,” I said, clearing my throat as I reached for Donald’s folder. I swallowed hard, hoping that Liam wasn’t a mind reader as well as a master criminal.
“Thanks, Nat.” He pushed his chair in. “See you then.”
--
Swedish house music blasted out of night club speakers, reverberating off the basement walls as I downed my gin and tonic and scanned the dancefloor for my housemates. It was the Saturday night before Christmas and our annual festive knees-up.
I had gone to the effort of having my hair professionally blow-dried for the occasion; it fell in bouncy waves down my back. A full week’s pay cheque had been blown on the Herve Leger fringed bandage dress that I had on, and another week’s pay on my vertiginous Jimmy Choo sandals.
“Alright darlin’?”
I felt a clammy hand grab my arm and turned around to find a sleazy looking man in his forties, face red and hairline receding.
His hand moved towards my arse. “Get the fuck off,” I said, stepping backwards and almost falling.
“Why dress like a slag if you don’t want attention?” he said, swaying from side to side and spilling half of his drink down my dress.
Panic seized my chest. I couldn’t see the girls and the club was too loud and crowded for anyone to see what was happening. The man’s hand gripped my arse cheek again.
“Little slut,” he slurred, sloshing more of his drink on to me.
“Nat? That you?” said a familiar voice from behind me, and then, “I think you need to back the fuck off, mate.”
My stomach quickened. It was Liam Hale. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt with cufflinks, his hair tousled and his chin covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. The man’s hand didn’t move, despite the fact that Liam towered over him and had a face like thunder.
“Who the fuck asked you?” The guy shoved his hand into Liam’s chest.
Liam’s face darkened. He grabbed the man’s shirt and pulled his other arm back; his fist clenched and jaw tight.
“Liam! No!” I moved between them. “Please. You can’t.”
I knew exactly what would happen if Liam assaulted the man: he would be whisked straight back to prison. I couldn’t let him do that. I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, and repeated, “Please. Let it go.”
Liam lowered his fist, but did not release him, then turned towards the bar and signalled at two burly guys who had been watching the situation from afar.
"Deal with this dickhead,” he said, anger rippling through his words.
“Yeah, boss,” said one of the men.
“Come on.” He placed his arm around my shoulders and ushered me towards the exit, giving me a soft squeeze of reassurance. “You’re all right.”
--
Outside, the cars and people on the street were coated by a fine layer of snowflakes. I could see my breath in the chilly air as we walked towards the awning of a nearby restaurant to shelter. Under the light, I examined the red marks on my arm from where the man had grabbed me. Liam’s eyes followed; a look of anger flashed across his face again, causing the veins on his neck and temple to rise to the surface. He shook his head, as though shaking the thought away, and reached out, gently grazing his fingers over the pinkish bruise.
“Thanks, seriously,” I said, fumbling in my bag for my phone, “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there. Shit...” My voice trailed off: the battery was dead.
“Where do you live?” he asked, placing his jacket around my shoulders and rubbing my arms for warmth, being careful to avoid the bruise.
“Clapham. I need to find my friends, but my battery’s dead. Fuck.” I had visions of them reporting my disappearance to the police if I didn’t surface within the hour. They were usually the overprotective sort, but there was no sign of them outside the club.
A black Range Rover with tinted windows indicated and pulled up on the kerb in front of us. Liam raised a hand, signalling to the driver that he needed a minute.
“Listen, this is my car. I live in Kensington... as you know.”
We both smiled. My work gave me an access-all-areas pass into Liam Hale’s life; I knew where he lived, where he’d gone to school, even his mother’s maiden name. I knew how he’d spent his time in prison – mostly in the gym and working in the library – and I knew he was considered a good guy by the officers who had signed all of his behaviour reports.
He continued, “You’re welcome to come back and charge your phone. I can’t leave you here.”
I nodded, my stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and excitement at the thought of seeing his house and being alone with him. He opened the back door and ushered me in, leaning over to clip the seatbelt around my waist, his hands brushing against my stomach as he untwisted it, before gently closing the door and walking round to the other side.
--
I had imagined many times what Liam’s apartment might look like, but nothing could have prepared me for the lift doors opening to reveal a cavernous penthouse with a pane of glass running the entire length of one wall. The open-plan kitchen and living area had been styled to perfection, with brown leather sofas, sumptuous grey rugs and a granite-topped kitchen island in the middle.
He pressed a combination of buttons on the wall panel beside the door and a fireplace flickered to life at the far end of the room; a futuristic-looking glass box with flames licking the sides.
“Nice place,” I said, taking the jacket off and hanging it over one of the dining chairs.
“There. Charger’s over there” he said, ignoring my comment and pointing to a wireless phone charger on the desk which overlooked the window and the city below.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked across the room, appraising my body. He had only ever seen me in my dowdy office clothes; cheap New Look blouses and standard issue pencil skirts. Tonight was an entirely different story. This dress had been designed to hug and accentuate every curve. It ended at the top of my thighs and the top part barely managed to contain my breasts.
“Take a seat, please,” he said, gesturing towards one of the plush leather couches. “Can I get you something to drink?” He moved behind the kitchen island where there was a chilled wine fridge stocked to the brim.
“Thanks. Anything is fine.” I sat down and crossed my legs, hitching my dress a little higher than necessary whilst his back was turned.
“I feel like we should celebrate,” he said, clinking around, “it being Christmas and all. This is a 1982 vintage... goes down nicely.” He popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Perignon and poured filled two flutes.
The drink was the colour of pale honey and tasted like liquid sherbet on my tongue. Liam sat beside me, leaving a polite distance. He draped one arm casually over the back of the chair and angled his torso towards me.
After two glasses of Champagne and a lengthy debate about the British legal system, I was feeling tipsy. I turned on my phone to a flurry of Whatsapp messages from Bec and Claire, then quickly punched out a text to let them know I was in safe hands.
I rose from the sofa to stretch my legs and stood in front of the desk, admiring the view outside and taking in the twinkling lights and the colourful explosion of neon that was Hyde Park Winter Wonderland in the distance. The festive theme park was deserted now, but the iconic red and white slide glowed like a beacon, surrounded by dozens of smaller rides and stalls.
“This view never gets old,” Liam said, standing a few steps behind me.
“Kensington, or me?” I said, emboldened by the drink.
He laughed, appreciating my joke. “Both, actually.”
He swallowed and dug his hands into his pockets. His sleeves were rolled to just below the elbow, revealing his muscular arms and the edge of a tattoo that I hadn’t seen before. His expensive watch twinkled under the spotlight above us.
I hoisted myself into a sitting position on the desk, feet no longer touching the floor. His hips were level with mine now and the tension between us felt like a stretched elastic band, pulled taut and close to snapping. His hands remained in his pockets, a signal that he was a gentleman, staying a safe distance away. I knew the ball was in my court here, I was, after all, his parole officer, and Liam Hale was too smart to play it any other way.
The dampness between my legs had been building up for the last two hours and all I could think about was Liam cleaning it up. It was now or never; I knew the stars would never align like this again. I reached forward and pulled him closer, until he was standing right in front of me, chinos grazing my bare legs. I didn’t have to feel around to know he had an erection; there was the unmistakable shape of his hard cock straining against his pants.
“So...” he said.
“So.”
Still, he kept his hands in his pockets, breathing steadily and looking into my eyes, searching my face for the answers he was seeking. I lay back and stretched out; the city was now upside down. Slowly, I moved the hem of my dress up and slipped my hand between my legs, opening them wide so that he had a better view.
I couldn’t see him, but I heard the sharp intake of his breath as I pushed my lace G-string to one side and ran my fingers the length of my slit, rubbing the juices over my plump clit, writhing with pleasure as I steadily brought myself close to orgasm, before stopping abruptly.
I stared at the ceiling, with my heels on the edge of the desk, legs bent and splayed open.
“There’s an itch I need scratching,” I said, spreading even wider and parting my lips for him.
I heard him unbuckle his belt and lower his trousers. I was still lying back, looking at the ceiling, but I could feel his cock against my thigh. My pussy gave way to another flood of wetness
“In what way?” he said, the end of his cock just grazing my clit. He gently moved it up and down my slit, sliding through every groove and wetting himself with my juices.
“Fuck me, please,” I whispered, hardly able to stand it anymore. I guided him towards me. “Please.”
He drove into me; the size of him catching me by surprise. My tight pussy surrounded him as he thrust against me, still standing. He lifted my leg up then, resting them on his shoulders and pulling me forwards, closer to him, until there was no space between us. The feel of my wet pussy slamming against him, dampening the lower part of his stomach as he made himself cum was the biggest thrill I’d ever experienced.
Liam Hale is fucking me. Liam Hale is using my pussy to make himself cum. Liam Hale is about to explode inside me and leave me dripping in his cum. My mind went into overdrive as I came, shuddering as wave after delicious wave rolled over me. I felt him cum; two long pulses followed by a groan.
Liam pulled out and sat me up. I folded my arms around him, letting his sticky cock rest against my pussy. He raised an eyebrow and let out a short laugh.
“Well, you’re certainly full of surprises,” he said, craning his neck to kiss me. He gently probed my mouth, caressing my tongue with his, then moving along my collarbone and down to my chest.
Liam lowered my dress at the front and popped my breasts out, cupping them as he traced a circle round my nipples with his soft tongue. He stopped, as though something had just occurred to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping out of his pants which were still down at his ankles and slipping his shirt over his head. He placed his hands under my legs and picked me up. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”
I laced my fingers round the back of his neck as he carried me into the master bedroom. The room was larger than my entire apartment, with charcoal grey sheets adorning the bed and heavy curtains blocking out the city lights. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of a lamp on the dresser. He set me down in the middle of the bed and instructed me to take my dress off whilst he went to get something from the en suite.
“Lie back and relax,” he said. He was holding a small bowl of warm water and a towel.
I did as he said and reclined, closing my eyes as my head hit the stack of goose down pillows. He parted my legs and ran a hand down my pussy, sliding his fingers through the slippery mixture of my wetness and his cum. The next thing I felt was the warm, damp towelling material, softly moving against my clit and he cleaned me up. He ran it over my thighs and between my arse cheeks, parting them and letting his finger graze my star.
pussy clenched with excitement at what was to come. There was no way I was leaving until Liam had fucked me dry; I’d been waiting a year for this moment. The professional repercussions would be worth it to feel him release inside me again.
“Turn over,” he whispered, setting the towel and water to one side.
I did as he asked and flipped on to my stomach, my face pressed against the pillows. He moved behind me and ran his fingers the length of my body, then parted my legs arse cheeks and plunged his tongue inside, keeping it rigid as he probed me, his lips locked around my ass hole, flicking it into me as deeply as he could. He slipped a hand through to my pussy and pulled back, spreading my fresh juices over my lips and clit. I could feel the roll of his Adam’s apple against my arse as he swallowed down, eating me out like the inside of a Crème Egg.
He paused a few moments later, then lay down on his back.
“Sit on my face,” he whispered.
I moaned with pleasure and straddled him, feeling as though he was using his whole face to fuck me as he pulled down on my thighs, flicking my clit with his tongue and gripping my arse cheeks. I came with his tongue inside my pussy, nose pushed up against my pulsing clit and his finger in my arse; completely surrounded. Liam Hale clearly left no stones unturned when it came to the bedroom.
“Shit,” I said, breathless.
I lay face down again, almost spent, but aware that Liam was rock hard and ready to cum again. He pressed his body to mine, sliding against my arse, one hand reaching under my front and scooping my pussy out. He licked his fingers hungrily and nuzzled the back of my neck, his cock hard against the top of my thigh.
I reached my hands around and he moved back slightly, groaning as I parted my cheeks for him; this would be my Christmas gift to him. I ran my finger over my ass hole, making it clear that he had my permission.
“Nat,” he whispered, his voice husky as he worked his way into me, both arms pushing against the mattress as he thrust in and out, sliding up my body.
I rubbed my clit at the same time, picturing the scene as an independent observer might; Liam Hale, sliding his sticky, thick cock into my arse, over and over. It was so tight there was barely a millimetre to move either side, but I knew that this would only heighten the sensation for him.
“Fuck. God,” he said, shuddering as he clenched against me, once, twice, his hands cupping my breasts. as he came, as deep inside of me as he could possibly get.
--
The sun broke through a slender gap in the heavy curtains, casting a long line of weak winter sunlight on Liam. I was lying opposite, facing him, my hands under the pillow, enjoying the feel of expensive Egyptian cotton against my naked body. The previous night felt like a dream, but the sight of Liam’s sleeping form and the sound of my phone pinging with messages in the lounge confirmed that it really had happened. My pussy felt used and sticky, but I savoured the feeling, reluctant to wash him off me too quickly.
I watched the rise and fall of his chest and examined the dozens of tattoos inked across his body, none of which I’d seen before. His chiselled torso that finished above his pubic bone in the shape of a V.
The night had exceeded even my wildest dreams. Not only was Liam the sexiest man I’d ever met, he had taken me to a place within myself that I’d never been before, and was generous, intelligent and kind to boot.
“Hey,” he said, opening his eyes. “Are you staring at me?”
We both laughed. He slipped his arm around my waist and drew me towards him.
“Does this affect your job?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
I shrugged, tracing my finger down his backbone. “Doesn’t really matter. No one needs to know, and anyway, I’ve been thinking about leaving. I wanted to be a lawyer. I don’t even know how I ended up in this fucking job.”
“What stopped you doing it? Becoming a lawyer?”
“Combination of things really; mum got sick and needed help with rent and bills. Law involves a two-year training period and I couldn’t justify it. Then time went on, and well, you know how it is, it just fell by the wayside.”
“Let me help you with it. Seriously.”
I curled my leg over him, my knee resting against his hip, opening up the space between my legs and hoping he’d take the hint.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.
“I’m serious,” he said, his hand moving to my pussy, the Rolex cool against my thigh. “Quit and work for me. Quit and be with me. You deserve more, Nat, you do...” His voice trailed off.
The thought that this might be more than just a one-night-stand sent a jolt of electricity ripping through me, unlike anything I’d ever felt.
“We’ve practically been having weekly dates for the last year,” he continued, guiding himself into me, slower now than the previous night. “Let’s carry on.”
I rolled on top of him and sat up, enjoying the lack of space between us as he filled my pussy again. He sat up and locked his arms around my back. My breasts rubbed against his torso as we rocked back and forth; a balancing act. I came quickly, biting down on his shoulder as I felt him do the same seconds later.
Was this my life from now on?
To be continued...
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