Falling for a Pro

FALLING FOR A PRO

Henry just figured if he got horny enough, he would just call in a pro, after all, he didn't want to get involved in anything long term or overly romantic, and he was getting impatient with the dating scene. He had a few women he took out, but none of them would set your hair on fire. He lived in a group home near Austin, and was one of six sibling with a widowed mother. He worked at the village kitchen, and was twenty-three and was considered available for marriage by the ladies in the neighborhood, although he resisted the undertaking. He figured he would need an undertaker if he ever weakened and proposed. He just wasn't interested in being with only one woman day after day.

By Friday night he was feeling pretty randy so he picked up the phone and called the usual number. An unfamiliar voice answered, took his credit card number, and wrote down his address. He gave her Calvin's address, cause that's what he did. If his buddy was going to be home, they might share, one taking on hour and the other the next. If Calvin was going to be gone, Henry would have her to himself.

She was a hooker. She most likely didn't mind getting twice the work. He knew most of the girls and had used them many, many times. His favorite was Jewels, but he wouldn't kick any of them out of his bed. He was what they called a "regular."

He made just about enough at the kitchen to help his mom out with groceries and be able to afford one roll-in-the-hay a month. Not that he wouldn't want more, but that was all he could afford. If he could get Jewels once a month he would be a happy man. If he got any of them every thirty days he would be smiling broadly.

Well, after he called he dialed up Calvin to see if he'd be sharing her or not. Calvin had a room in an apartment complex two blocks from the group home. Calvin's phone went to Voicemail, so he left a message and started over to his buddy's house for a little sex play. Calvin left a key for him under the pot on the porch. He got to Calvin's, made himself a cup of coffee, and sat down to wait. It didn't take long before there was a light knock at the door.

When he opened the door, it wasn't Jewels. Standing on the porch was the best looking woman his young eyes had ever seen. She was maybe five three, one hundred and six pounds, with a Margot Robbie face and a body to match. She certainly wasn't Barbie, but she had a fuck-me look on her face that said any price would be worth it.

"Are you 2262?" she asked, the last four digits on his credit card. He just nodded, since he couldn't make his mouth work. "The service said there may be two of you," she said.

"No," he said. "It's just me, today. Calvin's out. I'll pay for two, if you'd like," he said. She said that wasn't necessary, that there was only one of him and that was fine. She said she usually did one at a time, so that was just right.

"I am Candy," she said. "What do you like, 2262?" she asked.

Henry shrugged. "Oh, just the regular," he said.

She smiled. "I don't do regular, 22," she said.

"Henry," he said.

"Okay, Henry. This girl doesn't do regular fucking," she said. "You want that, we can call in one of the regular girls. I only do special," she said. "Really, really special."

"I like special," he said grinning. She asked if he'd like to undress her. "Sure," he said. She stepped up closer and spread her arms. Henry undid her dress in back, lifted it over her shoulders, then pulled it up over her head. She was wearing very brief silk panties and he slipped them over her bottom and down her legs. He undid her lacy bra and pulled it off her shoulders.

When she was completely nude, she took him by the hand and led him to the bed. "Most working girls don't kiss, but I think it is an important part, don't you?" she said. He simply nodded and she kissed him. "Candy likes kissing," she said before she put her lips to his. She held the kiss for maybe a minute, and when they separated he shook his head to clear the fuzziness in his brain.

He had not been what you'd call a sexual virtuoso, not an very experienced guy, really, but he was a long way from being a virgin. He had kissed quite a few, but none of those previous kisses left him breathless. This kiss did exactly that. She took the time to slip a condom on his dick and roll it completely down his shaft.

When she pulled him down on top of her, he entered her without realizing it until he was balls deep in her very professional pussy. She began moving her hips steadily and he matched her cadence perfectly.

"You want the Friday night special?" she asked as she humped against him. He tried to speak but only garbled words tumbled out of him. She was the most wonderful fucking machine he had ever encountered.

His stiff cock thrust into her repeatedly and he increased his pace as the slapping sounds of their bodies hitting together filled the room. He had hired a hooker to avoid emotional attachment, but as they fucked he realized he was falling for this hooker. She certainly was special, and she was giving him even better sex than his favorite, Jewels.

Candy was surely sweeter, more desirable, sexier than any professional that he'd ever experienced, and he found he was enjoying her much more than anyone he'd ever had sex with. She was, as she had promised, exceedingly special. Not only was she more beautiful, but she was clearly the most expert, the most passionate, and by far the most satisfying of them all.

After he came, he lay in a spent heap, and gazed at her loveliness as she dressed. She leaned across the bed, kissed him, and let herself out. He kept looking at the door after she'd left, captivated by what he had seen and what had been done to him.

She did seem to like him, but that was what he was paying her for. She probably made all the guys feel that way. Of course she did. That was her job. She did, however, put Jewels to shame.

All week long the only thing he could think about was being in bed with Candy. He knew he had a sweet tooth, but he never realized he had such a craving for sugar. She was named right, because she was certainly sweet as candy.

On Wednesday he called the service and asked for Candy. "She is very popular," the service voice said. "You may have to wait." He asked when he could get a time with her. "Maybe Monday," she said. "Yeah. No sooner than Monday."

"Okay, Monday, but I only want Candy," he said.

"You and everybody else," she said. "Okay, 2262. Monday. Candy. Ten o'clock." He asked if he could pay cash, and because he was a regular, she said okay. She clicked off and he wrote 'Candy' on his calendar and circled it. Could he wait all weekend? Of course, he had no choice.

Over the weekend he tried to do things that would take his mind off Candy, but nothing worked. On Saturday he went golfing with two friends, but he ended up playing poorly and just being distracted by thoughts of being in bed with the woman of his dreams. He hit it into the water, shanked a shot into the trees, and hooked another into the next fairway. He was ten shots over par and his friends asked him what was wrong.

"Just not feeling it," he said, but it was clear to them he was in some kind of funk.

On Sunday he went hiking, but just walked slowly along the trail thinking of what was going to happen on Monday night. No woman had ever affected him like that, and he was having a hard time with it all. It was a new feeling, and Henry didn't know how to handle it. He understood she was a professional sex worker, and her business was making men feel good about themselves, to enjoy their time with her, and relish making love to her, but he felt more for her than he had with anyone. It just wasn't enjoying sex, right? She was a remarkable woman.

How could he be sure? The other women he had been with made him feel good, were attractive, and were pretty good at sex, although not one of them made him feel as good as Candy had. It was foolish to fall for a whore, but foolish or not he had done just that. When he first saw her he was stunned. She may have been the sexiest person he ever met in person, not from a movie or a magazine. Her kiss literally took his breath away.

People say that and don't mean that actually, but she had genuinely done just that. When they fucked it was truly the best sex he had ever had. When she broke the kiss, he could not breath for, perhaps, twenty seconds. The softest lips, the warmest mouth, and the sexiest eyes had focussed on him, and he could not forget that night.

When Monday morning came he stayed in bed for a while studying the ceiling, counting the tiles, thinking about the night to come. It had been over a week since he'd had sex and it was Candy he was waiting for. He went to work, but he didn't get much done. He fooled around in the kitchen, pretending to work, doing very little, just the minimum. All day he thought about what was going to happen that night.

He had gotten the late spot and had to kill time until ten. He tried to watch a game on Calvin's television, but the Dodgers got killed, and he was so upset he had to turn it off. At nine he got a magazine and leafed through it. At nine thirty he stood by the window and looked at the street. At ten she hadn't come yet. At five after ten, still nothing. At ten fifteen a car pulled up and turned off its lights. At first there was no sound, then he heard a door open and high heels on the pavement.

"Is that you, 2262?"

"It's Henry," he said.

"I'll call you 22 for short," she said.

"Call me anything," he said, "but call me."

"Okay, Anything," she said laughing at her dumb joke. "It's still a hundred bucks," she said.

He gathered the bunch of bills he was supposed to to give his mother for food: one hundred in fives, tens, and ones. "Okay," he said, "here." He handed her the handful of money.

"This looks like food money," she said.

"No, it's fine," he said. "Take it. It's my money. It's for what you are going to do."

She took the money, counted it, then handed him back half. "That's all I'll need," she said. "You shouldn't spend all your food money on this," she said. She put the money in her purse, then she turned to him and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I don't want you spending all your family's food money on 'unnecessaries.' I like you Henry, but you don't want to fall for a professional girl like me. She will end up breaking your heart. You have a good heart, but it is a soft one, vulnerable." She laughed.

"I fuck men for a living," she said. "It's not church work."

"But you won't have to do it," he said. "if you are with me. You can stop. You wouldn't have to do it anymore."

"But I like doing it," she said. "It's what I do. I do it really well, don't you think?" He nodded and conceded that she was very good. "You can't save me from myself," she said, putting her hand on his cheek. "You have to accept me for who I am," she added. "I can give you a good time, but I am not wife material. That is for sure. Are we clear?" she asked.

Accepting what should have been obvious, he let her unbuckle his belt, undo his pants, and help him out of his clothes. She kissed his shoulder when he was nude and helped him to the bed. While he was on his back, she climbed on the bed and threw one leg over his waist, then knelt above him and lowered herself down on his rigid shaft, holding herself steady with a hand on each of his hips. It slid into her, and she moved her pelvis about, working him in, then settled down and forced it all the way to the hilt.

She sighed when he hit the back of her vagina, and then she rotated her hips and savored the feel of him inside her. She continued that way for thirty minutes, and then she came with a dramatic thrusting of her hips and arching her back, putting her head back and groaning. One of the important things about pleasing men is letting them know you are having a good time, that they are giving you one. Candy was a consummate professional and always convinced men she was enjoying them fully.

Henry was no exception.

He had fallen for her like no one else, and he struggled to get his emotions under control. "So, you like having sex for money?" he asked her.

"Don't take it personally," she said. "We can be friends, but you are a customer. We can't go for pastries and see a movie. It won't work that way," she said. "I am a prostitute, you are a john. I couldn't be your girlfriend, or your bride, and come home at night after fucking strangers for cash," she said. "Do you understand?"

Problem was, he did. He could not take her to church and have some there with their wives be men who have hired her. She could not smile coyly and have blown half the choir. He could not introduce her in front of church to men who have fucked her doggy style in motel beds.

What she had told him was right, and gradually he was being forced to accept it, to think straight rather than with his cock. He had to find another girl who didn't sell it. That is what he would do. As Candy left, she kissed him at the door.

"I'll send Jewels," she said.

"That's probably best," he conceded.