The Dirty Virgin

I said nothing, my eyes entranced as I witnessed the dirty sight, the puddle of goo forming on the floor. And Drake merely chuckled.

“You’re my dirty virgin, Cleo,” he whispered in my ear, softly palming a breast with his dick still inside. “My very own dirty virgin.”

CHAPTER NINE

Cleo

Daddy and I have been going at it non-stop for two weeks now. After that special shower, I basically moved right into his suite although at first I was a little hesitant.

“Daddy, do you think it’s okay?” I asked tentatively. “I mean, will Lorena mind?”

But Drake merely laughed, showing off those dark good looks before drawing me into his arms.

“Cleo, once again you know your mom and I haven’t done anything in a long time. In fact,” he said, a cloud descending over his brow, “I think she’s been fucking the pool boy, what’s his name?”

“Carlos?” I said in a small voice.

“Yeah,” nodded the big man. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Lorena wouldn’t dare do this openly in front of our neighbors. I’d never let her sully my name, be the cuckold. But seeing that I’m with you now,” he breathed in my ear, “I don’t give a fuck what she does.”

And I’d giggled a little then.

“Are we together Daddy? Like together together?”

And Drake merely licked my earlobe, nuzzled my neck before a big hand crept down to my pussy, slowly stroking through my panties, making me moan and twist.

“You bet we’re together together,” he rumbled, testing my warmth while stretching out the tightness. “You bet your ass we are.”

And I’d giggled again even as I moaned because everything was fair game with Drake now, my cunt, my mouth, my ass, everything had been filled with him many times over, his seed spilled from me everywhere. And the truth was that I loved it. I loved the sensation of hot white dripping down my thighs, swallowing his tangy concoction, smearing it into my breasts as a special type of lotion.

Who knows how long we would have gone on like this? Possibly forever, given how good it was, how satisfying.

But my mom hadn’t forgotten her long-ago promise. On Friday we were at the breakfast table when she turned to me.

“Cleo, I’m looking forward to our girls’ night out tonight,” she remarked with a sly smile.

Drake looked over his paper, immediately suspicious. He had no idea that Mom had invited me to the Donkey Club a week ago.

“What’s going on?” he frowned. “You’ve never shown interest in your daughter before,” he growled at Lorena. I looked up swiftly. It was unusual for Drake to acknowledge me so openly even though we were getting it on all the time. I was pretty sure that my mom knew I was living in her husband’s quarters now, but there was no need to wave it in front of her face, no need for Daddy to be overly possessive at the breakfast table.

But my mom wasn’t concerned at all.

“Oh Drake,” trilled Lorena. “Dinner and a show are for old fogeys. Cleo and I have something exciting planned … girls’ secret,” she winked.

My stepdad frowned again. “Okay, well don’t get too crazy. Cleo’s got a lot on her plate,” he said.

My mom smiled and nodded.

“Of course, Cleo’s got college to plan for, applications and essays,” she replied. “We’ll be home before you know it,” she promised. “Cleo,” she reminded me. “Let’s plan our outfits for tonight,” she winked at me. “The City is special and we don’t want to look passé.”

What a funny comment since my mom has never looked passé in her life. She was all sizzling curves, seductive smiles, oozing the charm of a worldly sophisticate. There was no way my mom would be ever be caught in something last season, much less old-fashioned and outdated.

So I just rolled my eyes, shooting a sweet smile at Drake before leaving with my mom to select an outfit for the night. And it was a good thing because my mom’s idea of appropriate attire was completely different from mine. She’d referred to the Donkey Club as a gentlemen’s establishment, so I figured something elegant, sexy without being revealing was appropriate. I held out a cocktail dress, a royal blue number, the hem coming down to my knees. It was sophisticated without being overly conservative, perfect for some mother/daughter time.

“How about this, Ma?” I asked, holding it up to my chest. “Understated and classy, perfect right?”

My mom glanced over.

“Oh Cleo, you’re so funny,” she said, snatching the dress out of my hands. “The Donkey Club is a gentlemen’s club honey, that dress is totally wrong.”

I was surprised. What was wrong with the blue number?

“Okay Ma, well should I go nicer and worse? I have no idea what would be appropriate,” I said. And we pawed through my whole closet before settling on an outfit. It was the weirdest thing. My mom urged me to wear my sexiest, slinkiest lingerie, a tiny hot pink set where the lace of my bra barely covered my nipples, the dusky outline of my areola visible underneath. But the clothes I wore over them – they were ridiculously countrified. I wore a tiny crop top layered underneath shortie overalls showing off a glimpse of midriff, my legs exposed. Frankly, I was embarrassed to be going into New York City dressed like this. But what the hell – I was happy just to spend time with my mom. So we got into a black car and zoomed off to the City, dusk descending around us, the night slowly dimming, our senses enhanced.