Worin' for a Livin'

It was 11 a.m. and she was dressed to kill. Black miniskirt, black leather "fuck-me" pumps and a black tank top clinging to her breasts like a candy wrapper clings to a peppermint twist. Hell, even Dolly Parton would be envious.

All the men she passed on Main Street confirmed that very thought.

Okay, so she looked like a hooker. But... could she act like one? It was the ultimate story for her, a freelance writer, single mom, recently divorced. If she could pull this off she'd have a story to beat every one of her stories done up until that moment.

There were rumors of a local prostitution ring in her area although the cops had yet to bust anyone. However, just a walk down Main Street was testimony enough. These ladies of the evening were actually ladies of the morning, servicing local gents in their offices, be they doctors, lawyers or CEO's. They were high class, top dollar hookers.

And she was going to tell their story.

In recent weeks, she tried it the legitimate way, attempting interviews. The reaction was the same, yet varied. They told her to fuck off, whether verbally, physically, or just with a look.

She wanted the story badly enough, and had promised her editor she'd deliver. So now she was stuck. So... here she was.

Once or twice she passed by a long legged lady she thought might have been one of the working class women she was trying to imitate, but no one said a word or did anything to confirm her suspicions. Her motis of operandi would be to strike up a conversation, explain how she was looking for work, and hopefully be led to someone who would hire her.

How difficult could that be?

As lunch time drew near and the ladies she'd targeted as pro's disappeared into various businesses or expensive cars pulled curbside, Holly's optimism lost its hard-on and her confidence began to go limp.

She had a week to bust the story, and her first day effort had fallen as flat as an A cup training bra.

Soon she was surrounded with the lunch crowd, normal men and women in business suits, eyeing her up and down, some with disgust, some with unabashed appreciation. She took a seat on a bench and watched the crowd slowly thin until the cement sidewalk stained occasionally littered with a gum wrapper or cigarette or odd paper was once again visible.

Three hours hoofing Main Street without one lead.

It was time to go home. The school bus would soon be pulling up to her driveway and letting the kids off for the afternoon. So Holly the Hooker became Holly the Homemaker once more.

Tuesday morning, 11 a.m., Holly hit the pavement again. This time she wore a slip of a pale white blouse, unbuttoned to reveal ample cleavage. Another mini skirt, this one black leather, and those god awful "fuck-me" pumps that gave her charlie horses in her calves and she was out on the beat, sniffing out a lead like a bitch in heat.

Shortly before noon a voice called out behind her. "Hey, wait up."

A strong hand caught her upper arm, gently delaying her from her stride. Her heart hammered against her rib cage as she turned to meet her first "john."

Unfortunately...It was a cop. Great.

But, oh no, it was much worse than that, she realized, after a slow a double take. She knew him. It was her son's soccer coach.

""Mrs...uh...Lucas?"

She swallowed thickly and tried to stare down the man she had had

the hots for ever since he began coaching her son's team, shortly after

her husband left her. "Coach Jackson." She held her head with a haughty

air and tried not to notice that his deep blue eyes were glued to her

breasts.

And smouldering.

"I...uh... thought it was you. What in the world are you doing here?"

"I'm working, if you don't mind."

"Working? Working, huh?" He eyed her up and down, then set his gaze on her flushed face. "I could take you in. Prostitution is illegal."

"Y-y-you mean arrest me?" The wheels were clicking. What a story!

"At least for questioning."

"Well. As long as I'm back by three so I can get the kids off the bus." She held out her wrists. "Go ahead, cuff me!"

"Mrs.. Lucas!"

"I'm sorry Coach- I mean Officer Jackson." She was suddenly seeing the humor in this, although Officer Jackson didn't appear to be amused. If anything, he appeared, she noted glancing downward, to be aroused.

Terribly aroused.

"Look, it's not what you think. I can explain," she offered, a nervous chuckle escaping her ruby red lips. "Really."

Officer Jackson searched her face in earnest. "Look, I know you and your husband split up. But... uh..., if it's money you need, this isn't the way to go about it. Go work at Wal-Mart or something."

"Do you have any idea what Wal-mart pays? Who can afford to work there?"

"Well you can't afford to walk the streets, not with your kids depending on you." He grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly. "What are you thinking? They need their mom. CPS could snatch them up in a second because of this."

As he pulled her close she could feel his bulge brush against her left hip. He felt it too, or he must have, because he released her immediately, shoving her gently away as if he'd just singed his palms.

"Look. I get off in ten minutes--"

She grinned at his choice of words.

"I mean, I'm off duty in ten minutes. I'm taking you home."

"But-"

"No buts. Get in the car. You can wait there 'til my shift ends."

Holly grinned broadly again, but said in an obedient tone, "Yes, Officer."

It was a good 20 minute ride from the city to her home, and during that time she tried desperately to repair her character. At first Officer Jackson didn't believe her. As they headed towards the hills, the further they got out of town, he began see the truth in her words.

It didn't matter though. He was still a bit upset.

"Its not all fun and games. Those girls have it rough. You should bethankful no one approached you. It could have meant your life."

"Oh, I wasn't going to have sex with anyone!"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Seriously! I would have told them who I was before it got too heavy."

They had reached the driveway and now Officer Jackson killed the engine

and turned her way. "And what would that have done?"

"Cooled things considerably, I would think. Would you want to be the person giving an undercover reporter her story?"

"Mrs. Lucas-"

"Call me Holly."

"Mrs. Lucas. You could have been seriously hurt, by anyone. That's no way to get a story," His tone had softened a bit and his eyes kept darting from her lips, now pursed and pouty, to her breasts, perky and proud, and then lower, to her thighs, now parted invitingly.

He wanted her, she could see that. And, man oh man, she wanted him. It had been quite a while since she'd been with anyone and actually, Coach Jackson had been the only man she had truly been attracted to since her divorce.

Now, seeing him in his dark blue uniform, with the short buzz of his hair about his ears, at the nape of his neck, the firm set of his mouth as he reprimanded her, she was anxious to score a goal or two, and wanted him to play offense.

It had been a year and a half of self imposed celibacy. It was all too much of an aphrodisiac for her. She leaned forward and whispered softly, "I'm sorry," then brought her face close to his, so close their noses nearly bumped. Then ever so softly she brushed her lips across his.

That tenderest of kisses elicited a full blown reaction from him and he leaned over the console to pull her close. He crushed her against his body, devouring her mouth with his. She savoured the the heady scent of his body, the spicy taste of his lips, his tongue as he invaded her mouth with his deep searching kiss. She moaned a low tortured sound and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Mrs...Holly. Enough." He drew back and stared at her, struggling to find his self control. "You're one of my players Mom's for god's sake."

Her face crimsoned as she dealt with his rejection. True, he was a few years younger than she, but he started this. Or did he? And, besides, she didn't think she looked "too" bad for her age.

"Fine. Thanks for the ride home, Officer Jackson." She turned to get out of the squad car but he caught her shoulder again. "Hold up."

"Um, shouldn't that be 'freeze'?" She looked at him with eyes wide.

"Cut it out. Mrs. Lucas, I don't want to see you out there again." He studied her face with a look of determination.

"Look. You go hand out speeding tickets and make sure my son scores goals, and I'll research and write my stories the way I see fit." She jerked free and stepped out of the car, then stalked to her side door.

As she slipped the key into the lock she heard the car door slam, his footsteps coming up behind her at a rapid pace. "Holly, you can't research like this. There are things you don't know, things going on down there."

Slowly she turned around. "Oh? Like what?"

"I can't say." He took the keys from her and slipped the one into the lock.

"Off the record?"

He pushed the door open and followed her inside, removing the key and handing it to her before closing and locking the door behind them. With the sound of the lock clicking into place, Holly turned once again on her spiked heel to confront him and caught him staring at her bottom, which the leather skirt highlighted nicely, she recalled.

"So. Do I call you Officer Jackson now? or Coach?" she struggled to keep a steady timbre in her voice and tossed her handbag on the chair by the door, then headed towards the kitchen where she put the kettle on the stove. She kept her back to him, willing herself to breathe normally, waiting for her nipples to stop perking through her blouse.

God, she wanted him, bad.

"Maybe you should call me Officer Jackson until you agree not to walk the streets again." He took a step towards her.

"Maybe you should lose the title and trust me enough to tell me why."

She turned around to face him, and leaned against the counter. "Maybe you should learn how to listen to authority figures." He took another step closer, his eyes locked on her nipples like two heat seeking missiles ready to launch.

"Maybe you should--" She lost her train of thought as his arms came about her waist, molding her to his hardness.

"What? Maybe I should what, Holly?" His eyes bore hotly into hers as his hands palmed the soft curve of her ass.

All she could do was moan and lose herself in his embrace, her eyes mesmerized by his.

"Make love to you?" he whispered against her lips as he rained little kisses over her face. His hands smoothed upwards, massaging her lower back then back down to her bum pulling her into his hardness.

"Mmm," was all she could mewl as her hands came up to his head,

cradling him as his tongue licked at her lips, just barely slipping in and out of her mouth.

"Please," was all she could reply as she wrapped one leg around his thick muscular thigh. His hands roved over her ass, reaching down to where her miniskirt met her thighs. He slipped his hands upwards, finding her cotton panties, slipping beneath the elastic leg band.

"Ohhhh god," she cried out as he honed in on her warm wet core. Her hands raked over his back, down his sides, to his belt buckle, where she fumbled for a minute or so until she loosened the clasp. A moment later the zipper was down and his cock was nearly free, separated only by a thin cotton sheet of boxers.

Her hand molded his hard cock as he dipped his head and caught her nipple in his teeth, blouse, lacy bra and all. He bit down just hard enough to make her shriek and grind her hips against his thick, hard bulge.

With a deep growl he nudged her towards the living room. Scant seconds later he had her naked, her soft white flesh smelling sweet and tasting sweeter. Her nipples, brown and large, were hard and protruding, beckoning him to suckle. Her pussy was covered in soft chestnut brown fuzz inviting him to delve deep into her inner most treasure.

He laid her back against the plush green courderoy couch

couch, loosened his tie and slid his pants off. He knelt between her legs, her wet pussy his motivation.

Holly cradled his head, her fingers threaded through his hair, and drew him even closer as he nuzzled his nose against her clit. His tongue laved along the soft lines of her pussy lips, up to her clit, where he suckled gently, sending her writhing beneath him. He traced the moistness of her pussy, slipping a finger inside her, turning it upwards and crooking it as if searching for the base of her clit from within.

He found something even better. And as he massaged her sweet spot she arched and bucked beneath him, seeking release that only he could give at that moment. He pumped slowly, slipping another finger deep inside her cavern. All the while he suckled and licked, nibbled and massaged her lips, her clit with his tongue. Just as he felt her first tremors ripple around his fingers he caught her clit ever so lightly between his teeth, suckling, milking her orgasm from her while his fingers fucked her urgently. She arched her hips, love juice erupting from her pussy like lava from Mt. St. Helen. Quickly he stood over her, stripping his boxers away, he knelt between her spread legs and thrust his cock into her pussy. No hesitation as he pumped deep into her on the first try. She spread her legs wide for him, welcoming him even deeper. She wrapped her limbs around his rock hard torso and he anchored both hands on either side of her soft supple curves.

With each thrust he drove deeper, she arched higher, until theirs was a mating ritual reminiscent of ancient times. They bonded together like two flames falling into a fire, indiscernible from the other, from the pyre consuming each of them, melding them together as one.

She knew the exact moment he was going to come, She felt his cock stretch her even more than it was, felt him go rigid for a split second, and heard him utter an incoherent guttural cry from deep inside. He pumped hard and then slowed, and as he did she came too, one last time.

They clung together, their bodies slick with their lust, sweat and come. The imprint of his buttons down his shirt marked her chest, her belly. His cock had branded her pussy, her pussy had claimed his cock.

"There's your story," he murmured lazily in her ear. "Forget the hookers."

"Mmmm. I think I can work something out."

He nibbled on her ear lobe before stretching out alongside her body.

"Just make sure you change the names to protect the innocent."

"I'll think about it, Officer Jackson."

He kissed her deeply then and warned, "If you don't behave, I may have to take you in."

She stretched and as she did, her pussy clenched his semi hard cock.

"Too late, I've already taken you in," she reminded him, pressing her pelvis against his groin and kissing him deeply once again. "Now, where are those cuffs?"