"No more scrubbing dishes … no more dirty laundry … no more bowing down … because I'm the boss now!" she squealed.
And I had to laugh too because my mom has had it hard as a maid, most people don't realize the abuse she puts up with from employers. It goes beyond the pale, I've got so many stories of the horrible things that have happened, the insults, the mental abuse, the fact that she was dirt to them. So if it was true that Mr. Markham had asked her to marry him, then I was happy for her.
"Okay, when will the wedding take place then?" I asked, still a little wary. Good news didn't come our way very often and it wouldn't be surprising if the engagement dragged on forever, just to be broken off in the end. Clearly, we hadn't had a lot of luck in our lives so far.
But Lorena surprised me again.
"This weekend," she trilled happily. "We're just going to have a civil ceremony because you know, this isn't the most traditional of relationships. So get ready baby, because we're moving across the railroad tracks to the good side of town!"
And I laughed suddenly, breathless. Lorena's happy mood was contagious and I felt elated, dizzy almost with the possibilities. After all, her new hubby had unlimited resources, we wouldn't have to scrimp, save, and work our fingers to the bone in the hopes of a square meal. I hoped against hope that it wasn't just a dream and that this new guy, Drake Markham, was going to be our savior.
CHAPTER TWO
Drake
Damn, the little girl was getting to be like her mother. Not in looks, but in attitude and behavior. Lorena and Cleo are about as different in looks as you can get. Lorena is all sultry dark hair, curves busting everywhere, sly, smoldering looks at the most inappropriate of times. Of course I'd noticed her in that housecleaning outfit. She'd hemmed the skirt until it was just inches below her puss and bent over all the time, flashing her ass, making sure that I saw her wet cunny because she purposefully didn't wear underwear. Vacuuming was never so provocative.
And if you're wondering why I didn't report her to her agency for her "unprofessional behavior," it's because I was a horny bachelor, a forty-five year old guy who worked all the time. My real "wife," as you'd call it, is my company, News Enterprises, and there's no woman who can come between us.
So Lorena was a nice distraction, someone that I didn't have to wine and dine, pay attention to, or even properly date. I just took what I wanted, when I wanted, at my convenience.
And it'd worked out well … too well. Lorena understood exactly what I needed and never whined about the situation, instead accepting her place, accepting the fact that there was no wine, no flowers, no nothing. There was no pillow talk or typical dating stuff – she was a means for physical release only and she knew it.
But the woman was wilier than I gave her credit for. I got so accustomed to the situation, so set in my ways, that she persuaded me to marry her. Can you believe it? Drake Markham, powerful billionaire, married to his former housecleaner. But the woman was stealthy.
"Mr. Markham," she said one night when my cock was still buried in her twat in the aftermath of sex, my breathing still fast and hard, right when I was the most vulnerable. "Wouldn't it be nice to be married? Wouldn't you like to have me exclusive to you?"
What the fuck? She was sleeping around? With who, Carlos the pool boy? Stokes the butler? What the fuck?
"No sir, I'm not sleeping around, I promise," she said, looking at me sultrily from under her lashes. "I'm just saying … other men are interested too, you know. Maybe I want to get married," she hinted darkly
And so I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book. I couldn't stand the thought of someone else's dick in her vagina and so I signed away my freedom, making it legal in a civil ceremony the next weekend. Fuck fuck fuck! Looking back, I have no idea why I was so fucking impulsive, I should have gone on a two-month trip to the North Pole before acting.
But what's done is done, and I'm fucking married now. Not that it was so terrible at first. Lorena and her daughter moved into the Big House, Lorena into a suite right next to mine and she was initially attentive and supplicating, offering herself at every chance.
"Oh Mr. Markham!" she'd moan beneath me. "Your dick is so good, so big!"
But Lorena's been acting weird, sloppy and oddly secretive recently. Take my last business trip for example. I was in her bed the minute I got back, and she put out but it was different. After I came the brunette swung her legs off the bed and got up.
"So soon baby?" I drawled, taking in that curvaceous form.
"Oh yeah, just going to step into the shower," she said, her voice disappearing into the bathroom. "Just getting clean!" she sang.
And I heaved my big body out of the bed, trailing her into the en suite.
"Maybe I'll join you," I growled, only to stop short when I saw what was on the counter.
Because instead tying up the used condom and dropping it into the trash, the rubber was lying on the counter like a dead piece of plastic.
"Honey, didn't you forget to throw this away?" I asked, eyebrows raised. I'm not squeamish or anything but it's just weird.
And the woman merely sighed and wiggled her hips from the steamy shower stall, not bothering to answer.
"Come in and get it big boy," she breathed, opening the stall door invitingly.
Of course, I was on it like a flash. I was in that tiny space, taking what was mine all over again, the weird condom situation notwithstanding. Oh well, maybe things were a little out of order because she was so stunned from the mindblowing sex.
But it actually happened a couple times. Lorena would always take the used condoms and forget to throw them away, which frankly was just unsanitary especially for someone who used to be a cleaning lady.
"Baby, what the fuck?" I demanded, annoyed again at seeing another one next to the bathroom sink again. "What's going on? Why aren't you ditching these things?"
And the woman gasped.
"I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I guess it's from my days as a housekeeper. You know I had to clean so often that I love being sloppy now. Being messy and gross is like a strike against the universe, rebelling against my past."
"I get it," I said, putting my arms around her waist. "I get it, you don't have to do that stuff anymore," I murmured into her neck. And Lorena sighed happily, exhaling loudly.
"I knew you'd get it Mr. Markham, I knew you would," she cooed, offering me her body again.
And I took it, pushing the incident out of my mind, but it kept happening. Used condoms kept appearing here and there, I would find those limp suckers on the bathroom counter, behind the toothpaste, in the medicine cabinet, untied, my semen slopping around messily. It was fucking gross but I got it, Lorena had been a maid her whole life and being messy now was her form of rebellion.
But those days of hot couplings seem to be growing few and far between now. Now, instead of getting to fuck her non-stop, Lorena's drawing back, even withholding sex sometimes. Can you believe it? I married a penniless housekeeper for sex and now that we're legally bound, she doesn't feel the need to put out. The bitch has obviously never heard of conjugal rights.
But I still feel the need to dominate, the urge to assert myself, my libido growing ever stronger, more overpowering by the day. Except there's another factor that I never considered … my stepdaughter Cleo. She was a skinny, pale twig when I first met her, someone who never spoke, just looked with big green eyes. But recently, she's changed. Eighteen now, her body's matured, that ass round and juicy, and fuck me, but she hasn't been wearing panties lately.
I know … because she's been watching me as I watch her.
CHAPTER THREE
Cleo
I want to tempt my stepdad somehow, but I'm not exactly sure how. I mean, I'm still growing into my new body, so while the outside me is now curvy and tantalizing, the inside sometimes still feels like gangly fifteen year-old, complete with acne and braces.
I'd heard my parents going at it again last night. As usual, my mom had spent the day by the pool doing absolutely nothing, and Drake had come home, stressed and anxious from work, needing a thorough blow job to relieve the steam.
I could hear through the door of his suite, the thick oak not enough to stifle their argument.
"On your knees," he ground out, his voice low and commanding.
"Oh Drake," said my mom breezily. "You're so funny! Only lazy women do what their men say, I'm an independent woman now."
"Fuck you bitch," he rumbled again. "Get on your knees."
And I'd heard my mom dropping down to the carpet, no doubt pouting like a spoiled brat. But the whining didn't stop there.