The Hooker Pt.IV - Sneaking Numbers V2.0
DISCLAIMER: This hooker's mine. Hugh Laurie deplorably isn't, but then, I'm not really into owning people. Also, there is no money whatsoever being made off this, which is almost as deplorable (but only almost). Neither are the characters, ideas, stories etc. of the NBC TV series House, MD, mine.
Eventually, I start liking to come to House's place. He might become a regular. I do like a long, loose-limbed body, and a relaxed attitude, and with those hands and eyes thrown in...
I wonder what the drawback will be, I was never lucky that way...Guess I'm a bit of a pessimist where males are concerned.
This Tuesday is a rainy one, so I take my car, and am in luck. I get parking space almost in front of his door.
While I'm closing in, I see a tall, lanky guy in a biker jacket chase some kids away from a motorcycle. When next I see House fumbling his front door, I realize it was him, using the cane to make his point about their fingering his vehicle.
Never really thought about the jacket. So, that big, strong, battered bike under the window must really be his big, strong, battered bike. I've no idea how he can ride it with that bum leg of his. He's a brave, tough guy, I guess.
I wait some moments to let him settle down - I'd also prefer it that he doesn't know my car.
Leaning back, I ponder this client. I think I know by now which mood he's in by the way Dr House opens his door. He's paying me well, after all. If he's bitchy and aggressive, I greet him expansively and very politely on purpose - after all, he's paying me well... Helps to get the rocks off, and to set the mood.
Sometimes, he is sad, or in pain, or both. He leans on the frame a bit, refusing to let me pass, and demands extensive eye contact before admitting me.
The commonplace polite words at the door are, on such days, greeted with an expressive lift of the eyebrow, and a curt 'No', or a mere shake of the head. He'll then step back, throw the door wide and, after letting me in, merely drop his eyes, indicating to get down to it.
I've noticed if that happens, in the end I always smile - not the big, toothy, business kind, but one that is real, and hurts a bit inside. He himself hardly ever does, in honesty. He can do wicked, and nasty, and mocking, in all variants, but honest and open?
House never talks much, and hates most all articulate, or non-affirmative, female noises. Occasionally, as much as a 'Hi!' will set him off and make him go 'Shut up and suck!'
Most of the time, we are on an almost-speechless plane. I don't mind. I've got eyes, and this is, yet is not, everyday routine. With House, it's plain straightforward blow jobs with no wagging of tongue otherwise. Except sometimes.
Usually, he's amazingly relaxed, unless he's in pain. And that's not only for a man who's a cripple, or uses a hooker, but for any man.
The door is torn open instantly.
Has he been standing behind it, expecting me?
House is on me with a pounce, pushing me into the wall of the hallway. I can feel he's hard as a bull. He tries to kiss again - indeed manages to hit the open mouth in my moment of surprise, but he's so intent on other things, like getting his thing out of his pants and into my slit, that I can move out of that bit easily.
His hands are everywhere. He is so hot and greedy that his jeans and my strings are down in no time. He is spearing me roughly before we are through his door.
House bucks into me, pushing me on. Even then, I am wet already. I support myself on the little safe in his tiny foyer in a half-sitting position while he is ramming into me for dear life, and comes hard, his hands clenching my body rough enough to hurt, teeth biting down on my neck and bruising me.
While he comes, I can feel his knees give. He pulls out immediately anyway, and without looking back, stomps off into his living room.
Then he reconsiders, turns, and kicks up my panties with his cane: "On with them and out with you!"
He hasn't so far bothered to pull up his own pants, and is dangling.
I bite back a grin. Males do look so funny sometimes!
He points the cane at the safe.
"And wipe your juice off that!"
I am just a little bit breathless from the ride, but this makes me gape.
Surely I am leaking, but that is not mine!
He ignores me, and stomps off.
While I do his bidding, I start to chuckle, then laugh. The absurdity of it all!
There are 300 in the safe with my card on top, all apparently untouched since the other week.
That is not it.
I consider these are the bucks I left behind when he was sick, still sitting there like good little duckies.
House's tight-fitting leather jacket is on the floor before me. I rifle it while I can, him using the loo.
His wallet is in the inside pocket. A sheaf of cred cards, mostly platinum type, med card etc., no pics, another 400 that I won't normally touch but which happen to tally with today's tab, and, yes, his social security card, too.
I jot down the number. It is internet time. I want to know more about this man House, particularly if he's going to be a real regular, as seems likely.
I am still chuckling while donning my panties. There are not many johns who make me laugh.
Some might consider the goings-on a rape (and a theft). I guess I should be aggravated, but I'll call it fast and easy money. The whole action can't have taken even most of five minutes, including his pee and the filching.
I didn't come myself, this time, but that's not what I'm out for at any rate, if I get it as a bonus frequently. This was hot and kinky in its own way...
Yet there is an inkling, after the incident, that not all will be vanilla with Dr House, always.
When I'm moving into my heels and stoop to pick up my fee from his open purse, his unshaven face comes round the door frame: "Still here? Get lost!"
My, my, aren't we in a bad mood today?
I grab the dough, put it with the three hundred from the safe, and count it.
This time, I am going to take it all, and wave it at him by way of good-bye, to make sure he sees what I take. His fault for chasing me out like a rabbit!
Dr House doesn't protest.
I tie my coat belt, and quit.
With a huge grin on that just won't let up, I walk to my car.
You never know what's up with Dr House. This guy is so crazy!
Surely, this is the fastest buck ever made, outside of a stock exchange.
Pondering things while driving home, I realize it's his smell that brings me to my knees, that makes me take whatever he gives, and want more of him still; hot for him over again, even now, after the event, in the car.
Led around by the nose...
I've done my research on the man. It's always good to know your regulars if you can, to keep them or to shove them, and the internet gives an enormous spectrum of info on just about anything, and anybody, if you know how to use it. Sometimes if you don't.
Now should he ever do the same thing on me: even if he knew my real name, he'd come up with zilch.
Sneaking Dr House's social security number wouldn't have been necessary - he's easily found.
And wow - that guy is not merely a plain doc, but a departmental head at Princeton Plainsboro, our local big time, high-tech, elite, med teaching joint.
Evidently, Dr House is also an international capacity in his field, being diagnostics. Hence, he must be rich, regular way, at least comparing to the average, even of my clients. There is also an internet clinic with his name on it.
There's a memorable article about a speech Dr House gave at a conference a few years ago, about a new heart medication that apparently wasn't quite so new.This disclosure cost a big pharmaceutical some estimated 20-40 million for starters, and his hospital an unknown sum to be donated by the head of said firm that was allegedly higher still - all of which did amazingly not cost Dr House his job, in turn.
Then, there is some gossip about malpractice, but no real lawsuit up against him, or not at the moment. There have been proceedings in the past - to find out more, I'll need to access more confidential data bases. Later, maybe. Furthermore, I come across complaints of abuse by subordinates in certain newsgroups, although charges seem never to have been pressed in that area.
He must be a very lucky person - in certain respects, that is.
There's another article, a heart-wrenching yellow-press piece of about 8 years ago, by a local paper. It describes how the already-renowned Dr Gregory House, specialties infectious diseases and nephrology, had his life saved by his lawyer girlfriend, name not given - now is THAT unfair?! But she probably demanded the anonymity, while Dr House may not have cared at the time, even then -, who, by ignoring his explicit demands, as his appointed agent agreed upon a procedure while he was in a coma that left him a cripple, but prevented an amputation, and saved his life - attached comes the usual discussion of the ethics and how-to's of patient's rights. The direct involvement of a lawyer and a doctor, main agents always in the matter aside from patients and their families, gave the thing spice.
The woman doesn't seem to be with him anymore though, judging by the paper, by my being engaged, and from the general size and state of his rooms.
I forego searching official databases for the time being. The forum entries make an intriguing enough read for some more online time.
The following Thursday, House calls me: "I want you for a whole night next time."
"Oh? Fine. That'll be 1500, as you know. Excluding games, toys, and anal, etc."
"In advance. I need to make sure that I'm free of course, after your usual date."
"Surely, after what..."
He stops himself. I think if he had said what I believe he was about to, I would have chided him, and probably hurt him. In a way, he's like a little boy - in that light, it is hard to imagine that he is a doctor. There's an openness, a kind of vulnerability, something that could be called simple-mindedness, in him sometimes, that is startling. And very attractive. He seems to know yet not to know... I know however that I have a bad mouth and rarely hold back, so danger is my tongue draws blood. Most men are very vulnerable in the field of intimacy.
"I'll check... Hold it...
This is more about my body's time table than about clients. I have to reckon, and need to be careful. I can't always take an all-nighter, physically. If I don't bleed anymore, due to loss of the thing it bleeds through, there are still days inbetween that make extensive action uncomfortable- days that even this greedy sex machine doesn't want to work.
No more reds, just the blues...
This is almost there. Calendar says it should be okay though.
"Yes, can do. Happy to oblige, Dr House."
"Now look, could you ..."
House never lets up, does he?
"No, I couldn't. Can't, we're on the phone. Cash in advance, the usual place, no games whatsoever here, or it won't happen. So far, you've been reliable, but you are not yet a regular regular."
The dry business assessment doesn't pull a string.
"I might want anal."
"Well, that's another 400 for you, so it's 1900 down in cash."
"But I don't know that yet!"
Is he really trying to bargain? He might not know what he wants next Tuesday, down to the detail, but I am positive he knows that you don't bargain with hookers if you want the job done.
"It's all the same, for regulars. You name your wishes, you put down the cash. You don't use your prescription, bad luck for you."
I'm wondering whether he's hung up on me when he finally speaks up again: "Well... I'll go for water games. You do that?"
"Water, like in tub, shower, or fall, or jet, what'd'ya think, you moron?"
Wow, nice manners! I do think I pissed him off. He sure has got a temper! I've had guys use the expression for piss play and suchlike, which would definitely be extra, if on at all. I need to make sure.
"Tub, or shower? That would be okay... included. No golden showers or stuff, if you get my meaning. As to the games bit, instructions need to be given in advance, and adhered to. Costs vary. You tell me what you want, I tell you if it's on, and for how much. Doesn't have to be this instant, but sensibly ahead of the date, with enough space to make preparations if needed."
Dr House doesn't react. He probably was really attempting for a work-around.
I spell it out for him again: "If there are no bodily fluids other than the usual involved and no further games attached, I think we can include water games. Other games, advance notice please."
"Fine. 1500 it is, then."
He hangs up.
Miser! Manners are not his forte either, but I knew that. Oh well...
Let's find out what Dr House is up to next week. My curiosity is sure to be terminal eventually.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.