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 my breath short.
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.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Drake
Did I fuck Marie the dog-walker? Surprisingly … no. I’d planned on giving it to her good, taking out my rage on the blonde’s unsuspecting body.
And she’d been all for it.
“Please mister,” she’d pleaded, spreading her legs, holding her pussy lips apart. I could see straight up that channel, the pink walls pulsing, creaming with lust already. “I need it bad, put that big toy in my cunt!”
But disgusted, I’d tossed aside the dildo. I couldn’t bear to touch the blonde because of all the memories circulating in my head of a certain gorgeous redhead, ripe, willing, so tight that my pole got stiff just thinking about it. I didn’t want some random blonde chick wrapped around my cock, I just wanted Cleo’s sweet, tart pussy, in all ways, all places, creaming hard.
So I’d dismissed Marie curtly, kicking her out of the office before turning to my rolodex. Not caring that it was close to midnight, I’d called my private investigator and instructed him to get on it, to look for my little lost lamb. But as fate would have it, I beat him to the punch. The next evening, I’d been looking out the window of my chauffeured car in Manhattan when a taxi drove by, Cleo’s face smiling from the billboard up top. What the fuck? It’d only been two weeks! Doesn’t it take at least a month to buy advertising space, not to mention hire a photographer and schedule shoots?