The (Fat and) Happy Hooker Ch. 10

I was pretty careful to arrive at the house late in the morning. Benjamin was off to school and I was surprised not at all when I knocked and Jacob and Marta both greeted me. She looked stunning in a white, flowing pajama set, the top a loose blouse of silk so sheer I could read a newspaper through it, the pants floor length with wide legs brushing the floor, the legs so wide they looked like a long skirt.

Jacob, however, did surprise me. He was dressed in nothing but a wide leather posture collar, the stainless point under his chin forcing him into a chin-up posture or he would be poking himself with the needle sharp point, and a leather jock-strap-looking contraption with the flat leather triangle obviously pressing his cock tight against his body.

I grinned.

"I see my teaching has paid off," I said, "can I assume that you have a similar outfit," I added to Marta.

She giggled and said, "of course."

Jacob reached past me and took the roll-on suitcase I had.

"Follow me," he said.

As he led us down the hall I couldn't help but notice the tic-tac-toe game laid on his back in welts.

I glanced at Marta, my eyebrows raised in question.

She giggled and said, "well, you're the one who taught us that lessons must be learned."

I smiled and offered a high five.

"More things?" he asked.

I tossed him my keys and said, "a trunk full."

Watching him walk away I realized how much he had trimmed down.

"Is that what you want for Benjamin?" I asked and her eyes got big.

"Oh, God no," she said. "I want him to learn how to make his future wife happy. But then, well," and she giggled, "if SHE wants him in a collar, that's up to them."

"Or if she wants to wear the collar?" I asked and she grinned.

"Well, that IS fun too," she said, depending you your mood.

I shook my head, smiling. "Damn," I said, "I AM a good teacher."

Jacob was back then, the first of my suitcases in his hand.

"Good boy," Marta said.

He smiled and went back for more.

The rest of the morning was pretty straightforward. Jacob brought in the rest of my things and Marta and I got my new room organized, clothes hung and put into drawers as appropriate, and my bathroom things laid out.

Jacob, meanwhile, got dressed, kissed Marta and me both goodbye, and went off to work.

As soon as Jacob walked out the door Marta took me into her arms.

"God, I thought he'd NEVER leave," she breathed after a VERY good kiss. I am a good teacher.

I giggled. "Jake not taking care of business?" I asked, my hands playing with the soft skin at her waist.

"We're," she started and paused, getting her thoughts together, "We're working on our relationship," she finally said.

"Annddd," I asked, "does he like having a Woman of the House?"

"He's not sure," she giggled, "hell, I'm not sure myself."

"And what do you want of me?" I asked.

She grinned at that.

"I want you on your knees, using your mouth as you do so well," she said.

So I gave her what she wanted. I eased to my knees, a motion I had practiced diligently, and used my fingers to pull down her long flowing pants.

Her new style hadn't reached the wax stage yet so I buried my face in that thick, curly black bush. She was aroused and I inhaled deeply, drawing in her womanscent. And I realized, at that almost cellular level of understanding you develop when you're a professional fulfiller of fantasies, that she was enjoying being in charge at least as much as she was enjoying what I was doing.

So I played to her fantasy.

I leaned back and bent my neck so that I could look up and meet her eyes. I slowly moved my head, holding her eyes, to brush both cheeks with that thick pubic hair.

"Do I please you, my darling?" I asked, putting on my best simper.

"Oh my yes," she said, stroking my hair, almost petting me like a cat.

I buried my face in her muff again, inhaling and probing with my tongue, tasting the salty, tangy, oiliness of her excitement. My hands cupped her heavy ass, holding her to me, and her fingers slowly entwined in my hair.

I took my time, bringing her along slowly, feeling her building arousal in the tension in her ass under my hands and in the way her fingers dug into my hair. I enjoy oral sex, both giving and receiving, so what I was doing wasn't a chore. I felt her sudden tension and tasted her salty release.

But I didn't stop there. My fingers dug into the tense muscles I had ahold of and pulled her to me when she tried to arch away from the intensity of what I was doing. She groaned when I squeezed harder, and gasped a harsh, "yessssssssssssssssssss" as a second orgasm took her.

I allowed her to relax then, kissing her belly, low, using my tongue to trace that line of coarse hair that ran up to her belly button before I leaned back, smiled up at her, and said, "I told you I could be a good employee."

She giggled at that and helped me stand.

"Go ahead and shower," she said. "I'd join you but you just never know when someone will drop in around here."

So I did. The shower was big, a free-standing unit, with an oversize garden tub on the other side of the bathroom. I noted what appeared to be Jacuzzi jets in the garden tub and made a mental note to check with Marta about that.

Clean and dry I spent just a few minutes with makeup. I didn't want to go full-on, but in my line of work, even my new line of work, I figured it would be a good idea to always look pretty good. Just some base and blush, very light around the eyes, and a pink lipstick that I hated but was less, well, whorish than the scarlet I normally wore.

I had given a lot of thought to clothes, I thought of them as my "domesticated costumes." Jeans, not tight to emphasize my ass, casual loose fitting, over plain granny panties in white cotton. White socks and white tennis shoes, not new but clean. A plain cotton bra, one of my heavy-duty special order HH cups with wide straps and six hooks. A blue chambray man's work shirt, oversized on me, two buttons open at the neck showing just a hint of cleavage. I added my plain Seiko watch and a necklace with "Sammee" spelled out in gold finished my, well, my uniform.

"Oh. my. God," Marta said when I found her in the kitchen, each word a separate sentence as she just stared.

I laughed.

"You look positively domestic," she said, brushing her hand down my arm.

"Hey," I said, doing a quick turn, "the Family Nanny should look the role."

She laughed. "Okay, I know you're a professional in bed, but can you cook?" she asked.

"Honey," I said, "at my size, you can bet I like to cook."

"Okay then," she said, tilting her head a little, "what's for dinner?"

I laughed at that, surprised, really, at how much I was enjoying the thought of my new domestic role.

"Plain home cookin'," I said, "with Americanized Mexican, Italian, or Chinese for variety. If you have something, is the term 'kosher,' in mind, I'll start studying."

She laughed at that. "Oh, honey, in case you hadn't figured it out, we're pretty fucking far from Kosher around here," she said.

"Well, then," I said, "let's see what I have to work with."

The kitchen wasn't quite restaurant-grade, but it was close. It was big with the biggest refrigerator I had ever seen in a house. There was a pantry that looked like it could stock a small convenience store. Racks of pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and the four-burner stove with a griddle in the middle beckoned.

"Plain American tonight," I said, "meatloaf, mashed potatoes, corn, and a salad."

She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I matched her with my own and waited.

"You're serious?" she asked.

"Marta," I said, "yes. I will do this job, and play this role, to the absolute best of my ability."

We looked at each other for a few seconds.

"Annddd, I like to cook," I finished

We talked, casually, becoming friends as well as teacher-student or employer-employee. I liked her. We laughed a lot, yelled at the idiots on The View, listened to some music, and she watched, fascinated, as I asked where the vacuum cleaner was, got it, and vacuumed the front room where, obviously, most of the family living was done.

I don't know that I ever, before or since, felt as perfectly domestic as I did when Marta said, "time for Benjamin (she never shortened his name to Ben or Benny) to get home."

She led me to the front porch where we sat, waiting, her with a screwdriver, me with a beer.

And there it was, Benjamin in his six-year-old Mustang pulled into the driveway and got out. He had one of those backpacks with him, and a couple of books as well.

He walked to the porch and did a quick doubletake before continuing up the steps.

"Mom," he said by way of greeting, and then, "Samantha."

His eyes sneaked down to see how many buttons were open but he caught himself and met mine.

"So," I said, very aware that I needed to get this first greeting as a live-in member of the family right, "tell me something you learned today."

He grinned at that and said, "are you going to ask me that every time I come home?'

I gave my best smile, not a big Grin, but a nice smile, and said, "do you always answer a question with a question?"

He surprised me by being much more quick-witted than I expected.

"Do you?" he asked.

I laughed then and said, "no, only when I'm sparring with youngsters. Now, tell me something that you learned today."

He held up his hands, palms facing me, and said, "no mas. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about irrational numbers."

"I can't help you with THAT," I said, "what books ya got?"

He handed over one that had the imposing title Government Economics: Theory and Reality, and the other was Lord of the Flies.

"Okay," I said, "this," and I touched the economics book, "I can help you with, and this," I touched the novel, "oh my God, are they still making you read THIS chestnut?"

And that set our routine in my new life as the family nanny. Marta was a joiner and several days a week I would be home alone, taking care of domestic chores. I did laundry, regularly vacuumed, and was the cook for our new family. As the weather warmed up I even handled yard work and did gardening.

I would greet Benjamin when he got home from school, with iced tea, he would change clothes and do teenage boy stuff for a couple of hours, be home for dinner, and I would sit with him as he did homework. I could help him with literature and history and economics, and I had him teach me his science and math. I would cook and then Benjamin and I would do the dishes and clean up. He was getting used to me and, honestly, I was getting used to him.

Okay, if we're being honest here, I was falling at least a little in love with him.

In the morning, after he left for school, Marta and Jacob and I would indulge. I was mostly fascinated with Marta's metamorphosis. She had taken charge but, as often as not, for her taking charge meant directing me, or Jacob, or both of us, to be very dominant with her.

We experimented and she seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into, well, hedonism is the word. She was getting addicted to sensations.

Jacob and I became conspirators in developing new ways to please her.

I guess the ultimate, the one that became sort of the go-to cumfest for her, was the morning we first stretched her over the back of the big wingback chair that served as a decoration in the hallway. I don't know that I ever saw anyone sit in it, but it turned out that the back of the chair was right at the line of her hips.

The morning we discovered her, well, her weakness, Jacob was dressed starkly, black slacks and shoes, a white shirt, his Rolex, and a Rush Limbaugh No Boundaries brightly patterned tie. Marta was in a collar, leash, and nothing else. I was in my old hooker jeans, belly bulging over my belt, and topless, tits swaying as I led her along.

In the front hallway, Jacob had turned that chair so it faced the door. I led Marta until the thatch of her pubic hair just touched the chair and then moved around, took her hands, and pulled her forward until she had no choice but to bend over. Then Jacob used two belts to anchor her ankles to the back legs of the heavy chair.

"Oh my," Marta breathed and you could already smell her excitement.

"Oh yeah," I said, smiling as I took her hands and pulled, effectively locking her hips against the chair.

Jacobe used his belt.

There was no warm-up.

The first stroke landed with a loud SMACK.

Marta's eyes got big and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Jacob counted, slowly, to ten.

SMACK!!

This time the sound was even louder and Marta almost got away from me the way she jerked her hands. But I'm a strong girl and held on.

She was breathing in harsh little pants, almost little gasps as Jacob counted.

SMACK!!!

Her back arched and she tried to squirm, to move, to do anything to ease the pain in her ass but we had her locked pretty immobile.

That slow count was in the background as she struggled.

SMACK!!!!

She tried to scream but all that came out was sort of a weak whistling sound.

"N-n-n" she sort of blubbered, I assume she was trying for "no" or "no more."

SMACK!!!!!

And she came. Hugely. Spectacularly. I could hear her release spattering on the floor and though she had lost bladder control but the scent was pure womanneed.

"Okay, darling," Jacob said, as he undid the belts holding her ankles, "that's enough for this morning."

She was sobbing, limp between us as we walked her up to their bedroom.

"Okay, honey," he said, kissing her cheek, "I'm off to work."

He kissed me and said, "I leave her in good hands."

I laughed and said, "have a good day."

Marta was laying on her belly, of course, her face buried in her pillow, and I could still see her shaking as she cried.

And her ass was pretty fucking spectacular. There were five separate, distinct welts, each the width of his belt, already bruising, and very dark.

"Are you okay?" I asked, a little afraid we might have gone too far this time and, well, afraid I might lose this gig.

She turned her head.

Marta isn't a "pretty" woman at the best of times. She's cute, rather than pretty, certainly attractive, but not pretty. And she is NOT pretty when she cries. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her nose was red and swollen. Her sinuses were so swollen they distorted her face between her nose and her eyes. When she opened her mouth thick mucus-laden saliva connected her lips.

"I'm scared," she said, surprising me with that non sequitur.

"Scared?" I asked.

"Sammee," she said, and drew a deep breath, "I liked it."