The (fat And) Happy Hooer

Over the next week, I did a LOT of thinking.

I talked to Maggie first. Her reaction was predictable. "They offered WHAT?!" she asked.

So I ran over it all again. The 150K. The 401(k). The car. The credit card with no restrictions or limits.

"Shit, Sammee, can I get a piece of that action?" she asked.

I laughed.

"But there's the 18-year-old boy thing," she said. "I suppose the good news is you can't go to jail for that unless you're a teacher?"

We both giggled at that.

"Yeah," I said, "there IS that. But it's his parents, so I think there's protection there."

She said, "talk to your lawyer, honey. I'm serious now. I get that it's a good gig. Hell, for a hooker it's THE dream gig. Anyone of us in the Profession would jump at it. I'm just saying, talk to your goddam lawyer."

I smiled and said, "I intend to. But can you handle my clients for the next month? I promised Jacob and Marta I'd be 'fresh' for my, well, my 'presentation' I guess you'd call it, and what the hell, they paid for it. Plus which, if I wind up taking this gig, I'll turn my whole little black book over to you and notify all of my clients that there's a new girl for them."

She grinned and said, "hell yes. You have interesting clients."

So we set it up. For the rest of the afternoon, we talked, hashing over my new life mostly but exchanging anecdotes from our professional lives.

She had a client that night, though, so I slept alone and for the first time in memory I did NOT masturbate when sleeping alone.

I read up on Jewish traditions, especially the Bar Mitzvah and its symbolic impact on a boy. It turned out, the Bar Mitzvah, formally, an acceptance of the boy into full membership of the religious community, making him subject to the law, was a big deal for a Jewish boy. While not quite passage into being a "man" as gentiles often misinterpret it, it IS full acceptance into being responsible for your own actions. Until the Bar Mitzvah, or the Bat Mitzvah for girls (who knew there was such a thing?), parents are responsible for the actions and, more importantly, the transgressions, of their children. Afterward, though, the new adult is responsible for his or her own actions. So with an 18-year-old, I would be clear on that account anyway.

I studied some biology too. I was a 30-something hooker and had plenty of experience with men. This, though, was uncharted territory. I realized, being more serious with myself than I had, probably since I turned pro, that I could do damage if I wasn't careful. So I wanted to understand virginity, something I didn't encounter much in my line of work, and what would be happening. And the more I read the more captivated with the idea of what they were proposing I became.

If I was going to be dealing with, teaching if you will, a large hormone in tennis shoes, something I had heard being 18 described as, I would want to, well, guide him into a path that would lead to happiness. I almost had a panic attack at one point as I read an article in one of the trade journals for psychologists - it's amazing what you run across with a Google search - that described the impotence of a man who had been mistreated by an aunt during the surrender of his virginity. God, I wouldn't want that on my conscience.

So I spent my evenings, rather than entertaining men, developing what was, basically, a lesson plan. This was interesting since my Bachelor's Degree was in Education (Secondary Social Studies) but I had never actually worked as a teacher or developed a lesson plan. But that's what it was.

I developed lists too. Things to Remember. Things to Do. Things to Wear. Stuff like that.

"Marta," I said when she answered the phone, "we need to talk."

I could hear the panic in her voice when she said, "you're not changing your mind, are you?"

I laughed and said, "No, I'm in, but I need to get that credit card you promised. I need new clothes."

She giggled at that and said, "Come on over, Mandy, and I'll fix you up."

"Ummmmm," I said, "I think our relationship has changed. Call me Sammee, please."

She giggled again and said, "Come on over Sammee," with a bit of emphasis on my name, "and I'll fix you up."

So I headed over to their house.

She greeted me at the door, looking every inch the housewife. Her hair was a bit flyaway, she had no makeup, her jeans had dusty knees, and the fact that her bra was still in the drawer was pretty obvious.

She grinned and kissed me.

"Cleaning day," she said by way of explanation.

I grinned. "So domestic," I said.

"As a good Jewish wife should be," she said, grinning, "come on and I'll get you fixed up."

I followed her through a hall into a well-appointed home office. She opened a drawer, pulled out a Visa and a Discover card, sat at the desk, moved the mouse to wake up the computer, and watched the screen as it did its thing.

I moved behind her and laid my hands on her shoulders, massaging very gently.

"Mmmmmmmm," she said, "watch it or I'll get too distracted to do this."

I bent and kissed the top of her head. "Wouldn't want that," I said.

She logged in to the Visa site, and worked through various dialogue boxes almost too quickly to follow, she had obviously done this before. She clicked on the "add new user" box and more little data boxes showed up.

"How do you sign your name?" she asked, "you know, your 'payroll signature'."

"Oh," I said, then, "Samantha Richards (no, nosy, that's not my real last name)."

She entered that into the little box.

"Your cell phone number?" she asked.

"Why?" I asked. I don't normally give that out.

"They may need to confirm it's you, that's all," she said.

So I rattled off the number.

"Date of birth?" she asked.

I groaned and rattled it off.

"And," she clicked "accept," "done."

She handed me the Visa card, showing her name on the front.

"You'll get your own card in a few days, but you can use this now," she said.

Then she repeated the process on the Discover site.

After she handed me the card she stood and kissed me.

"Now," she said, a little breathless, "I think you were doing something with your hands."

I laughed and said, "slut."

She laughed back and said, "I'm learning."

"Let's go out by the pool," I said, smiling as her eyes got big.

"You DO have a privacy fence, don't you?" I asked.

She giggled, that little girl, high-pitched giggle, and said "yes."

"So come on," I said.

It was a bright, sunny day, a natural day for sunbathing.

She didn't object when I reached for the hem of her T-shirt and started pulling it up, peeling her like a banana.

Her arms were straight up, the T-shirt around her elbows, and I liked the heavy stubble at her armpits. She squealed when I tickled it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"We're trying to change things up some," she said, her voice a bit muffled through the shirt, then she giggled and added, "kind of like you taught us."

I bent and licked the stubble, making her squeal a bit, before I finished pulling the shirt off.

"Are you commando too?" I asked and when she blushed I knew she was.

I walked her to one of the lounge chairs and had her sit. Then I got to my knees, smiling my best, "yes, I'm your good girl" smile, and got her shoes and socks off. I had her stand so I could unbutton, unzip, and peel off the jeans, a bit tight for housework I thought and it flashed through my mind that she had changed when she knew I was coming.

Her legs showed stubble too.

"I like your new look," I said and she giggled again.

"Show me," she said, a new self-confidence in her voice, as her fingertips parted her labia, putting herself on display.

So I kissed where she exposed herself.

I giggled when I caught the faint scent of strawberries and tasted a hint of a sweet taste.

"What?" she asked, the smile in her voice obvious even though I couldn't see her face right then.

I pulled back far enough to look up and meet her eyes.

"Flavored douche?" I asked.

She giggled and blushed.

"Just trying to change things up," she said.

So I went down on her, properly and thoroughly. I enjoyed the light dusting of stubble on her calves as she rubbed them across my back and found the sweet taste oddly captivating. I found her clitoris and began sucking on it like the tiny, vestigial cock it is. It was obvious my, well, my "lessons" were paying off. Her inhibitions were well controlled as seen in the way her hips were already rocking, seeking more from my mouth.

As her hips started chasing me I slowed down, denying her the quick release she wanted. When I pulled off and smiled up at her, she was grinning. She reached down and entwined her fingers in my hair.

"Don't you stop on me," she said, and I was proud of the steel in her voice. I figured I had done a good job as a teacher.

So I buried my face between her legs, using my fingertips to part her labia and expose those delicate, sensitive inner lips and the hard pink bud of her clitoris. This time I took it slow, but didn't pull back, deliberately denying her. I brought her along with a steady rhythm and didn't stop when the sudden gush of her love nectar filled my mouth. I kept at her until she suddenly jerked away from the intensity and rolled onto her side.

I was giggling softly as I crawled up and took her into my arms.

"Feel better?" I asked.

Her entire body was shivering and she managed, "oh God, yes."

We lay like that for a while as she relaxed.

With a sudden movement, she rolled over to face me.

"Would you like to move in now?" she asked, surprising me completely.

"You mean," I started but then settled for, "what do you mean?"

She sort of chuckled deep in her throat.

She smiled and I thought she liked leaving me a bit speechless.

She brushed my cheek with her fingernails in that way I had taught her and giggled softly. "We thought," she said and paused to kiss me gently, "that it would be a good idea to get Benjamin used to having you around. Maybe tell him you're kind of combination tutor and housekeeper."

She kissed me then, harder, a good kiss. I'm a good teacher.

"Jacob and I were talking and we were," and she started giggling.

I lightly caressed her waist and her hip, waiting for her to get herself under control, thinking that she had been going to the gym regularly, she looked trim and good.

"We thought if we just dropped him off at the cabin and he didn't know who you were, well," and she giggled some more, "he might have a heart attack," she said.

"Oh," I said, thinking she was probably right.

"Sooooooo?" she asked with a giggle, playing with my nipples until they were so hard they were aching.

I flashed my best I'm-in-charge here grin and said, "get that pretty mouth busy and let me think."

There really wasn't anything to think about. Of course, I would do it. But she WAS getting good with her mouth. So I laid back, pulled my belly up out of the way, and let her bring me along.

She was getting very good with her mouth. She knew how to part my labia to get to my clitoris, how to kiss all around my labia, and that special area right at the fork of my legs. Mostly, she was learning how to be in command when she was having sex and that mental attitude really made the difference.

I liked the way her fingers dug into my hipfat, squeezing hard enough to make me groan, and then the way she lifted her head to meet my eyes with hers and said, "tell me you like it."

"I LOVE it," I said, "harder."

I cried out when she grabbed a double handful of my bellyfat and squeezed hard enough that I wondered about bruises.

She was obviously enjoying my reaction. She started nipping at my labia, not quite fully biting, but nipping hard enough to make me yell.

And I came.

In my line of work, it's unheard of to be surprised by an orgasm, but I was. She bit down and the orgasm just TOOK me, suddenly and powerfully. I cried out, just an almost soundless "aieeeeeee" sound. When I relaxed a little she bit down again and I came again, squirming, trying to pull away but I didn't have any leverage.

She took me through five separate orgasms, each one as powerful as that first before she released me.

I was panting and hurting where she had squeezed and bit, sweating, and still sort of twitching as my body recovered.

She crawled up on all fours and looked down at me. With no warning then she opened her mouth and bent down, fast, almost like you might see in one of those vampire movies, and latched onto my nipple.

And bit.

I yelled but I still didn't have any leverage.

I didn't cum. Well, I didn't achieve a vaginal orgasm, but my body bucked and both nipples were suddenly so hard they hurt.

And she kept biting, kept increasing the pressure, until I was crying out, "STOP! JESUS! PLEASE, BABY! NO MORE!"

She gave a little shake, like a dog with a rabbit breaking its neck, and finally released me.

I couldn't breathe.

"Jesus," I sort of sighed, "I did NOT teach you that."

I looked up and her face was wet, the front of her hair hanging, from my natural lubricants. She looked wanton. She looked good.

She giggled, that girlish giggle, and kissed me.

"I've been doing independent study," she said.

"Damn," I gasped, "just fucking DAMN!"

"Sooooooo," she asked, "ready to move in?"

I got my breathing under control before I answered.

"Can I start my new duties on Monday?" I asked.

She actually clapped her hands like a schoolgirl.

"Yes, of course," she said, kissing me, a slick, kind of sloppy kiss.

I was still getting my breathing back to normal when she rolled out of bed quickly.

"Get up, lazy butt," she said, "We need to get presentable before Benjamin gets home from school."

I groaned and she slapped my hip.

"Move it," she yelled but with a giggle.

I rolled out of bed, laughing, saying, "Yassa mistress."

"Good girl," she said, taking my hand and pulling me into the bathroom.

We showered together, making a game of washing each other. It was sensual without getting sexual. Hell, I was too spent for sex right then.

After I toweled dry I went to the vanity mirror to look at the damage. Sure enough, there were little round, fingertip-sized bruises in the roll of my hipfat and when I lifted my belly apron for an inspection there were tiny bruises on my smooth labia.

"Jesus," I said to her in the mirror, "when did you become a fucking vampire."

She just giggled and said, "come on, we need to get decent."

So we dressed and went into the kitchen.

That's where we were when Benjamin came in from school.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked.

Marta giggled and said, "come in honey, you remember Samantha, don't you?"

He came in and said, "yeah, hi." His eyes were fixed on the cleavage I was displaying.

"Samantha is going to come to live with us," she said, "to help me out with the house and to make sure YOU," and the emphasis on that word was clear, "keep your grades up."

He grinned then, you could almost see him trying to get it under control but he couldn't.

"Cool," he said.

Marta said, "let me make you something to eat," and got up and started making a sandwich.

"So," I said to Benjamin, "tell me something you learned today."

His eyes were still locked on my cleavage and he sort of mumbled a, "well."

I reached over and touched him for the first time, my finger under his chin, lifting until he met my eyes.

I smiled my best, innocent, don't-arrest-me-officer smile.

"Tell me something you learned today," I repeated.

I noticed Marta watching this little play.

"Oh," he said, like he was waking up or coming out of hypnosis or something, "we're doing weird equations in algebra and I started learning a cool poem."

"I'm better in history and English, but I can still do factoring and if you'll show me how I can still solve a quadratic equation I think."

He grinned at that.

"But what was the poem?" I asked.

He smiled and started in a voice that caught as he recited - - "There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold. The northern trails have heard strange tales that would make your blood run cold."

I picked it up.

"The northern lights have seen strange sights but the strangest they ever did see. Was that night on the marge, of Lake Labarge, that I cremated Sam Mcgee."

He was grinning.

I was grinning back.

"Here honey," Marta said, laying a sandwich and glass of iced tea in front of Benjamin, "Samantha has to go now but she'll be here Monday."

I stood and offered my hand to Benjamin. "I look forward to working with you, Benjamin," I said.

He stood too and shook. It was a good handshake. "Me too," he managed, his eyes sneaking down to my cleavage again.

Marta walked me to the front door.

"Is it wrong that I found it exciting, watching you with him?" she asked.

"Fuck, honey, I don't know," I said, "this is new to me too."

"Okay," she said, suddenly a little nervous, "until Monday."