Her Parole Office Brother
By Astrid Cherry
Copyright 2012 Astrid Cherry
Smashwords Edition
Kate had been trying for the last hour to resist the urge to close her office door and masturbate. All she could think about was how good it would feel to lean her chair back, brace her heels against the drawer handles of her desk, and slip her hand down into her pantyhose. But of course her office door didn't have a lock on it, so the whole idea of it was crazy. And now she couldn't think about anything else but getting herself off.
She looked at the clock: fifteen minutes until her next appointment. She opened the file on her desk, wanting to be ready. Terrence Johnson, age 28. Supervised release. Convicted of possession with intent to distribute. Twice. Cocaine. She flipped through the pages until she came to his picture.
Oh my. He was definitely striking. In the black and white photo, he came across very dark, shadowy almost. Intense eyes. Full lips. A well muscled chest barely restrained by his white tank top. Delicious.
She leaned over her desk, her hand supporting her chin. Being a parole officer, she met a lot of handsome, hard young black men every week. Some were polite, some barely concealed their anger, some seemed to be simply passing through her office on their way to bigger things, sometimes good, sometimes bad. But she rarely saw one who made her feel... interested.
Her right hand slid across the fabric of her blouse and cupped her left breast. She kept looking at the picture, at the eyes, the mouth. She gripped herself firmly, then took her nipple between her finger and thumb. He looked so intense. So intense. She unbuttoned the two buttons between her breasts and slid her hand inside, immediately tugging the lace cup of her bra down, spilling her breast out, her hard nipple moving against the cotton as the bra pushed her newly freed breast up.
She was making it worse, she knew, but she couldn't stop. She tugged her hard nipple sharply, looked at the picture, took her whole tit in her hand and squeezed harder, the nipple pinched between her fingers, darkening in contrast to her pale breast. If only she had more time. If only her door had a lock on it. If only the bathroom down the hall wasn't so cold and public.
Kate leaned back and looked at the clock – ten minutes until Mr. Johnson was due. Grinding her nipple with her thumb and finger, she found that she couldn't resist any longer. Her left hand hiked her skirt up to her waist, and then went straight to her pussy. She didn't bother getting into her hose, there was no time. Her first two fingers found her swollen clit and started pressing it between them.
And that was when the doorknob turned.
She rocked forward suddenly, whipping her hands out of her skirt and blouse. With no time to button up, she still managed to pull the white lace of her bra back over her aching breast. The door opened as she smoothed the front of her blouse, hoping that if she didn't move around too much, the partially open front would not be noticed.
Kate was struck by how much he looked like his photo, and at the same time by how much he didn't. There was the same strong, proud cheekbones, the full lips, the striking eyes and muscular body. But at the same time, Terrence looked softer, less feral. He looked, she thought, like someone who could be touched, someone who could touch. He, standing in her doorway, looked like a strong, desirable black man, not a hardened criminal. Just a man in a black t-shirt and black sweat pants.
“Miss Taylor? I'm Terrence Johnson, I believe I'm supposed to see you at one o'clock?” His voice was softer than she'd have thought. Deep, yes, but soft.
“Well, Mr. Johnson, you're right on time. Please, have a seat, and then we'll get started. I, uh, see that you've been through the process before?” She looked down at the file.
“Yes, a couple times. This'll be the last, though. I've learned from my mistakes,” he said. “But maybe you should go over it with me. It's been a little while, Miss Taylor.”
“Call me Kate, if you would. We're going to be seeing each other once a month for the next two years, and I'd like to get to know you if I can. The more I know about you, the more I can try to help you move in the direction that will benefit you most.”
He smiled. “Well, okay. Kate. You can call me Terrence if you want, but mostly I'm used to going by Sweet D, or just D.”
“I can call you D if that makes you comfortable,” she said, her mind wondering what the D stood for. She was still half aroused, and could only think of it in terms that were wildly inappropriate for the situation.
Sweet D, sweet dick, I bet he has a sweet black dick, I bet he really does. Stop it, Kate. Wait until you get home, or if you can't wait, drive over to the park and pull into the far end and push the seat back and put your knees against the steering wheel and reach down between your thighs-