One Tric Penny

The Instigation

I've worked as a prostitute for nearly a year and by my best estimate have performed 275 sex acts for money, or tricks as they are called. However, I've never had sexual contact with another man outside the bounds of my marriage. In fact, my husband has been the sole customer of my entire career as a "working girl", which is why I refer to myself as One-Trick Penny. Penny, of course, is not my real first name - it's just that One-Trick Stella sounds silly.

My life as a whore began about a year into my marriage. My husband, Dave, was ten years older and had been in the military for a decade before we met. He confessed to me that during his years in the Army, he'd been serviced by dozens of prostitutes, and he had a strong desire for what he termed, "transactional sex acts"; the kind of things most 'decent women' wouldn't ordinary be willing to perform or at least do as often as he wanted it.

Dave had an extremely high sex drive. When we first married, we literally hit it two to three times a day - seven days a week. At first, I loved the passion and attention, but after a few months I began to wear out and looked for excuses to avoid being fucked more than once a day. It came to a head on a Saturday afternoon.

"No, not again," I said as I saw the bulge in my husband's briefs as he sprawled on the bed. He looked, for want of a better term, damn hot. His abs were a near-perfect six-pack, with chiseled facial features. Ordinarily, I'd have loved to have leaped onto his boner for an afternoon session, but he'd just nailed me for over an hour that morning. "Come on, Honey. My back is starting to hurt."

He looked disappointed and I felt guilty, as if I were ignoring my conjugal duties. "I'm really charged up. Couldn't you help me out with a blow job?"

"I gave you two last night. It still feels like I have your sperm caught in my throat." This was a first for me. I'd never refused him a BJ before. The look on his face hurt me to the quick.

Instead, I counter offered, "A hand job?" I sat on the bed next to him, with my bare legs crossed and began to stroke his nine incher through his black briefs. The fucking thing was rock hard and seemed eager to be handled, like a dog wanting to be petted.

I hoped he'd roll back and relax. In a few minutes, I'd reached under the material of his briefs to continue to stroke it, until he exploded in a huge wad of gooey spunk that would covered my fingers. That's not what happened.

"I really want oral. I've been thinking about it for over an hour." He began to move my hand from his crotch.

"Sorry, I'm just not up for it. Maybe tonight," I said before I retorted with, "Perhaps you can pleasure yourself, and I'll watch. That would be hot for me."

I knew I was treading on dangerous territory. He might go for it or we might get into an argument. I was ready for either scenario. What he said next shocked me.

"How about I pay you for a blow job? Two-hundred dollars. I want it that bad."

I began to stammer, "You want me to accept money? What do you think I am?"

"You're my wife but I' willing to pay for something you don't want to do right now. It's like paying for any other kind of work."

"You don't pay me to cook or vacuum the house."

Dave gave me a sarcastic smile, and I could see where this line of argument was going. I currently wasn't in a job and since Dave made very good money, there was never any pressure to work. Still, I did get an allowance and did the shopping and housework. I decided on a different tact. I'd do the old guilt trip.

"Alright, oral for two hundred bucks. Cash."

He stood, went to the dresser and pulled a series of twenties from his wallet before dropping them on the bed. He lay back down and waited for my response.

At first, I thought of throwing the cash back in his face and storming out to the living room. However, I decided to match his game and play martyr. I got between his legs and pulled his shorts down without another word, inserting his cock deeply into my mouth as possible. He reached down to squeeze my breasts, but I pushed his hand away. With his erection working its way down my throat, I managed to mumble, "Uhh ahh."

"OK. Twenty-five to play with your tits."

I was starting to get pissed and decided to see how far he'd go. I pulled his manhood from between my lips and said, "More."

"Fifty to handle to the tattas."

"Deal." His cock reentered my mouth, and he began to rub my boobs. We went on in silence for ten minutes, and I hated to admit it but I was starting to get into the act. Dave announced he was about to cum in a loud voice he hadn't ever used before. The spunk shot down my throat like a freight train through a tunnel; easily one of the most powerful blasts he'd ever produced into my mouth. I managed to swallow a lot, but the rest remained in my mouth, and I used my tongue to dribble the rest back onto his still stiff penis.

"Fuckin' damn it. That was the hottest sex we've ever had," he exclaimed as he lay back prone on the mattress breathing hard.

I stood and took another fifty from his wallet. I held the cash up, not realizing a bead of cum was still on my chin and dripping onto my boobs. "Is this what you want? To see me as a whore? Is that how you think of me?" I realized I didn't sound wholeheartedly convincing in my condemnation of our little business arrangement.

Worse yet, Dave had the biggest shit eating grin across his smug face. He didn't say a word, he just continued to smirk in the direction of my crotch.

I looked down to see that my panties were soaked with my juices. I turned beet red and dropped the money. "I can't do this. I can't accept money for sex."

"Why not? You earned it and you have to admit, Stella; this was the hottest sex we've had in months."

It took another half-hour of convincing, but in the end I accepted the money, and we wound up fucking our brains out for the next two-hours; all for gratis. I lost count of the number of organisms I had; definitely a personal best.

I mostly hated to admit it to myself, but the thought that I was screwing for pay had been a long held fantasy for me, too; one I'd never admit to having, much less acting upon. My upbringing had taught me such thought was highly sinful. And that was the problem. It made me want to pretend I was performing such depraved deeds all the more.

As we lay snuggled in the bed together, he convinced me to try it again in a few days. "There's one thing you have to promise me. You're the only man I'm going to hook for."

"Of course, Stella. I'll be your exclusive customer. But..."

"But what?" I asked expecting some heavy condition.

"There are certain things I want to do. Kinky things, I've never asked you to try, but have always fantasized about. You can negotiate a price, but you'll need to perform the act, even if you don't enjoy it."

"And we keep our regular sex live, well, separate and normal?"

"I'll be your missionary man," he said with a laugh.

Thinking it over, it sounded adventurous and actually fun. Besides, it'd be nice having some extra spending money, and I wouldn't feel the need to explain some of the things I bought. "Tell you what. How about hooker me goes by a new name? Maybe, Caprice? That sounds kind of sexy."

Dave thought for only a couple of seconds. "No. You're a definite Penny."

In truth, with my shoulder length blonde hair, hazel eyes, a small mouth with soft puffy lips, big boobs and long legs, I looked a lot like the character from that popular comedy show. People had called me that jokingly in the past. I started to laugh, "OK, my professional name is Penny. You can call me One-Trick Penny, because you're my only John."

I spent most of Sunday shopping on my own and used all my previous day's profits on the sluttyest clothing I could find. A red leather mini skirt that hugged my round ass and several pair of crotchless and see thru panties. An extremely low cut blouse that barely covered my large beamers and of course, several pair of nose bled stripper heels.

I was getting the effect I wanted from my new ensemble. As I examined myself in the mirror in the center of the women's clothing store, I noticed a dragged along husband staring in my direction with his legs tightly crossed so as not to betray a massive hard on. I surreptitious continued my little fashion show for his benefit, watching him squirm in the uncomfortable husband chair the store provided through the mirror's reflection. That is until his wife returned and began casting the stink eye in my direction.

Before I returned to the dressing room, I swear I overheard him say, "Why can't you dress more like that?" just before she punched him in the shoulder.

Encouraged, I decided to test my new look on the rest of the mall. I paid in cash of my new clothes at the register while still wearing them and strode out of the shop into the main inside corridor. As I moved past the skater boys, jeans moms and gaggle of teens, I could feel it as every male head turned in my direction to get a good long look.

I made my way to the most expensive cosmetic store and sat on one of the saddle stools. A skinny twenty something with dyed black hair, too many colorful arm tattoos and a golden nose ring asked me what look I wanted with the make-up today.

Dead serious, I said, "Very high class hooker - the thousand-dollar a night kind."

The girl smiled. Forty-five minutes later, I looked in the mirror and realized I was easily worth way more than that. I wouldn't be charging Dave that much, but he'd be getting his money's worth by far.

~ ~ ~ End of Chapter 1 of 12 ~ ~ ~