Drake
I kept thinking that Cleo would come home. Lorena’s proclamations that Cleo was going to be a famous model were overblown sure, but even if she did become famous, the little girl should come home to see her parents, right? Especially a daddy who loved her.
I missed her more than I cared to admit. I’ve been a playboy all these years, even after my marriage. My general approach to life is that pussy is there to be fucked, so why not me? I’m pretty indiscriminate so long as she’s attractive, voluptuous, and doesn’t talk too much.
But something changed with Cleo. Suddenly I found it difficult to get excited about other women. Of course, my little girl and I had never promised to be exclusive, after all we’d only slept together for two weeks. But the memories were overwhelming. Cleo at sixteen, all long legs and an innocent expression. Cleo at seventeen, beginning to fill out, her body developing curves. And finally at eighteen … ripe for the picking.
Lorena tried to comfort me. Knowing that I was no longer interested in her sassy curves, she offered Marie, our dog-walker. Because yeah, there was no pretense that we were even interested in each other anymore, Lorena stays with Carlos in the pool house now while I’m holed up in the mansion.
But my wife knows her place and never neglects me for too long, instead looking for substitutes, replacements for the beautiful Cleo. What was wrong with subbing her daughter? Oh right, she’s my step, we’re technically related.
“Drake, you’ve got to let Cleo go,” Lorena purred. “Cleo’s got her own life, she wants to explore the world as a model, fly around and see places, meet new people. She’s young, she’s not going to stick around with us old fogies forever.”
I snorted. Lorena and I were hardly old fogies, and I shook my head disgusted.
But the woman could read my mind.
“To her, we’re old fogies,” she reprimanded gently. “Anyone over thirty is ancient to Cleo, so let her spread her wings a little, see what the world has to offer. Besides, what about Marie? She’s perfect,” she purred. “An athletic blonde will be good for you.”
I thought about Marie. She was cute, sure, in a wholesome, All-American way, tanned with freckles, a strong build. Our dogs loved her, but I just couldn’t get Mr. Happy to bite.
“Nah,” I said dismissively. “I’m not feeling it.”
Lorena gave me a disbelieving look, startled because I was turning down free pussy. But she smiled slyly.
“How about this then?” she asked, slipping the strap of her sundress off her shoulder, baring a big jug that jumped and swayed.
I have to admit, I was tempted. I’ve always been a titty man and Lorena had a nice pair, bronzed with dark nipples, often leaking from some kind of hormonal imbalance. I should have figured something was up. The innocent sundress wasn’t really her style, she was more of a body-hugging cocktail dress woman. But even the promise of a good suckle couldn’t tempt me. I wanted pale, creamy flesh, not the brown gazongas Lorena was offering.
As if reading my mind, she tucked herself back in, hiding her boobies once again. With a flip of her hair, she sashayed away, no doubt to look for Carlos. But whatever, I wasn’t interested in my own wife anymore, I just wanted her daughter to come back.
“I’m not done yet,” Lorena called over her shoulder. “You can’t be celibate forever.”
But with the way I was missing Cleo at the moment, it sure seemed like I was destined for the life of a monk.
That night, I ate dinner alone before retreating to my study. I was looking forward to a glass or two of port, contemplating the flames of the fire, maybe beating myself off while thinking of Cleo’s fine, sassy form. Heck, I could see her in my mind’s eye, that creamy white pussy, the lips wrapped around my dick, throwing her head back while panting my name. Fuck yeah, I’d start a search for her tomorrow. It wouldn’t be hard, there’s only so far an eighteen year-old can go.
But when I opened the door to my study, there was a woman waiting on my leather lounger … completely nude, wearing high heels only.
“Mr. Markham,” she giggled. “It’s so nice to see you again. Lorena asked me to wait for you here.”
What the fuck? Who was this blonde? Did I know her from somewhere? What was my wife up to?
The woman giggled, cupping a breast and jiggling it at me, seeing my confused expression.
“Don’t you recognize me?” she asked. “I’m Marie.”
Holy shit! Lorena must have done some kind of black magic on the girl because Marie had been transformed from All-American blonde to vamped-up vixen. She was wearing a crapload of make-up so as to be almost unrecognizable, her hair teased like a Pamela Anderson clone.
Her body though, was tempting. Big round jugs with ruby red nipples narrowed to a tiny waist before flaring out into wide hips and chunky thighs. I have a thing for big girls, and Marie was larger than I’d previously thought. There was plenty of flesh for the loving.
“Mr. Markham,” she giggled again. “Come closer.”
I approached stealthily like a cat, but wasn’t about to make a move. My dear Cleo was still on my mind, her chestnut tresses and sweet smile a remembrance of days past.
“Mr. Markham,” she repeated sweetly. “I have a gift for you.”
I was expecting her to do something vulgar like spread her legs and show me her pussy, or maybe get on her hands and knees and wiggle her bare ass. But instead, she reached below the chaise lounge and pulled out a manila folder. Oh fuck. I’ve been in business a long time and know what unmarked folders usually mean. Bad news.
Suddenly angry, I strode over to the blonde and ripped the folder out of her hands, not bothering to say anything as I tore it open.
Oh fuck, it was worse than I expected. I’d been expecting Lorena to do something outrageous, maybe slip some condoms into the envelope, or some nasty sex pics. But instead, she’d doubled down.
Somehow, she’d known that I hadn’t given up on Cleo, far from it, and was determined to find the redhead. So Lorena had done the worst possible thing. The photos inside … they were of Cleo, totally nude, her assets flying, on display for men to see.
There was one where she was dancing, wearing nothing but stripper heels, her hair whirling as she gyrated on a pole. She looked gorgeous as attested by the male faces in the background, practically drooling at her luscious body.
The other photos were even more explicit. Cleo squatting, nude, baring her cunt to some guy, and then backing up to shake her rump in his face. Then bending over and showing off her breasts, her nips perky and tight, that creamy flesh ready to be devoured. There were dollar bills everywhere on the stage, littering the floor, making my little girl rich.
What the fuck? How could Cleo have turned so dirty, so fast? She’d been a virgin when I took her, and it was unbelievable that a mere two weeks later, she was taking her clothes off for money, getting dollars for shaking her tits, wiggling that ass.
But it only got worse. As I flipped through the files, there were more and more photos, and they just got more explicit. The shots were blurry in some cases, but otherwise unmistakable. Cleo’s legs spread, her cunny stuffed full with a massive dildo on stage. Cleo bent over, her ass being violated by a toy mounted on a wall. Over and over again, cream trailing from her thighs, juices running from the holes of her body.
I closed the file slowly, unable to look anymore. My little girl was working it, probably making thousands by baring body. Why? What the fuck? There was no reason, I would have provided for her. Sure, we hadn’t talked about our living situation, college, anything, but I figured that it was just a matter of time. There was absolutely no reason for Cleo to be dancing, to put that beautiful body on display for cash.
But evidently, this was what she wanted, to move out and live her own life, and Lorena wanted to drive the point home. She’d urged me to move on, resume my playboy ways, hinting that Cleo had a “modeling career,” even offering me another woman. I hadn’t believed any of that shit until I saw these photos, and it was like a stake to the heart, chest pains literally making me double over in agony.
Fuck this. Resolutely, I stiffened my back. My heart hurt and my libido was crushed, shredded to smithereens but I was an alpha male and wouldn’t let emotion control me. Betrayal hurts, but I’d get over it.
“Marie,” I ground out, my voice gravelly. “Get up and bend over.”
The blonde giggled, shifting her curvaceous form so that she teetered in high heels, doubled over the couch. As an enticement, she reached behind to hold herself open, pulling her cheeks apart so that I could look into that deep pink channel.
It smelled different, it looked different, and it was going to feel different than my beautiful girl. Reaching into my desk drawer, I pulled out a black, twelve-inch dildo that Cleo and I had experimented with right before she left. I hadn’t cleaned it afterwards, taking it out to sniff sometimes when I was working, that aromatic pussy scent still heavy, embedded in the rubber, rubbing it against my cock as a tantalizing treat. But the best way to get over one girl is to get right back into the saddle with another, and I was going to fuck the memory of Cleo right out of my mind.