Double Dare: A Fake Fiancee MMF Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “Mom, where were you?” I’d ask from the dining table after Mom had another late night. “Was it the Markham Estate again?”

  I was almost afraid to ask. Before Lorena signed up with this housekeeping service we’d been living paycheck to paycheck, with no benefits, no security, nothing except the cash my mom brought home each week. So I was afraid that her illicit encounters with the boss were going to bring our newfound financial security down with a crash.

  And Lorena nodded.

  “I was with Drake Markham,” she exclaimed, fanning herself. “He’s so handsome isn’t he?” she giggled. “Now excuse me, I’ve got to change,” she pranced off, not even bothering to hide the fact that her uniform was askew, her hair a mess, no doubt from the hot session she’d just had.

  But I only shook my head, not knowing what to say. Don’t sleep with the boss? If the housekeeping service finds out, they’re going to fire your ass in a second and we’ll be living out of the car again? But these words had been said a thousand times before, so I just put my head down, turned back to my homework and kept my mouth shut.

  But Lorena struck gold, literally. One morning when I got up, I found my mom making pancakes in the kitchen of our trailer.

  “Honey,” she said, “Come take a seat, I made your favorite blueberry flapjacks!”

  And I stumbled sleepily to the low bench, plopping myself down on the cheap velour. When had Lorena ever been up before noon? Usually she only took afternoon jobs because her late nights with Mr. Markham were so frequent now that morning bookings were impossible. So to find her puttering around in an apron, happily humming at the crack of dawn was a change.

  “Mom, what’s going on?” I asked blearily, rubbing my eyes. “Why are you up?”

  “Oh honey, I wanted to take care of you, make sure you had a nutritious breakfast before heading to school,” she admonished fondly from the griddle. “Besides isn’t blueberry your favorite? Here, and I got your favorite whipped butter too,” she said, plunking down a plastic tub of the good stuff in front of me.

  But that was when I saw the ring on her hand. A shiny gold band adorned her ring finger, with a big diamond poking off of it.

  “Mom,” I gasped, my voice trailing off. “What is that?”

  “What is what?” she asked sweetly, pretending that she didn’t know, looking at me quizzically. But I wasn’t playing games.

  “You know!” I said, staring at her hand. “Where is that from? Who gave it to you?”

  “Oh honey,” my mom giggled. “It’s from Mr. Markham, who else? The man that I work for at Markham Estates, you know, the one I’ve been seeing.”

  I was taken aback. I wasn’t aware that my mom was “seeing” someone, I’d thought it was fly-by-night sex at best, billionaire magnates don’t date their cleaning ladies. So I shook my head slowly at the Cinderella fantasy.

  “No seriously Mom, where did you get that?” I asked, my brows lowered. Stealing from clients is a crime. Not many cleaning ladies do it because the risk is too high, losing a steady job isn’t something most of us can afford. So I was worried, really worried, that my mom was off her rocker and had put our livelihood in jeopardy by swiping the client’s stuff.

  But my mom was in a good mood and wasn’t going to entertain my grilling.

  “Honey, Drake Markham asked me to marry him last night and I said yes!” she trilled. “Aren’t you excited for me?”

  I shook my head resignedly.

  “Mom, this isn’t a joke,” I reprimanded. “Where … did … you … get that ring?” I finished in a huff.

  But my mom just pooh-poohed at me.

  “Cleo, you’re always stuck in the mud,” she said. “Drake Markham gave it to me, didn’t I tell you already? We’re getting married,” she repeated, and with that, laughed and started dancing around the kitchen, the trailer bouncing on its wheels from her excitement.

  “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 i
nto 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.

  “Open your mouth, bitch,” he growled.

  I heard a shriek from my mom, probably because he’d grabbed her hair, and forced it in rough. That thick, ten inch cock out, ready to do damage on her throat and mouth … mmmmm.

  But my mom wasn’t having any of it.

  “No Drake!” she cried. “I just got veneers, my teeth are going to rub off on your dick, tonight’s not a good night!” she squealed helplessly, her voice going up about an octave.

  With a massive roar of anger, Drake must have thrust my mom to the side, I heard a triumphant giggle as my mom stood up. Daddy had evidently given up, the veneer excuse too ridiculous and a fucking turn-off.

  “Bitch,” he ground out, heavy footsteps fast approaching the door.

  I jumped back and made like I’d just happened to be passing by, but it was too late. When the door swung open and my stepdad saw me, I think he knew that I’d overheard their exchange. “Hi … hi Daddy,” I said in a small voice.

  Drake didn’t utter a word, instead striding down the hall in long, sure steps to his study, slamming the door behind him. But I’d seen that dong. Still erect, it’d strained at his fly, the length so thick and long that it wrapped all the way around his hip, the bulge making my mouth salivate.

  And oh god … I wanted it. Wanted it bad.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Drake

  A knock came on my study door.

  “Daddy?” a little voice called.

  Fuck! This was such awful timing, I couldn’t believe Cleo had overheard my humiliation at the hands of her mom. Lorena had fucking gotten out of hand, and I was about to dial my lawyer to divorce her. Why did Cleo have to interrupt now?

  But my thoughts turned to my little step. Truth be told, I was starting to notice her more and more. It wasn’t just the way that she was the complete opposite of her mom, in looks and demeanor. It was her youth, her freshness, that untouched teen beauty that only the young have. I sighed. Fuck, this was my step-daughter. It felt like a crime to even think about her like this.

  But I called out, “Come,” and Cleo let herself in.

  I scanned her outfit, letting my gaze linger briefly on her ass and her tits. Damn, how things had changed in a year! When she’d moved in, she’d been all knobby knees, buckteeth, with wild frizzy hair, looking like the proverbial red-headed stepchild.

  But she’d changed and matured … in the best way possible. The hair had darkened to a gorgeous chestnut, complemented by creamy skin and jade-green, slanted eyes. There was a spattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, and her body, oh god, her body.

  Obviously, Cleo dressed to show it off. She was wearing a short plaid skirt that ended just below her puss, with fishnets underneath and a tight baby tee top which outlined her curvy breasts and tiny waist. When had my little girl gotten so delicious?

  Sensing my gaze, she moved further into the office.

  “Daddy …” she began slowly. In the beginning, I was annoyed when she called me Daddy, I wasn’t exactly the paternal type. But now … now it sounded fucking sensuous and dirty.

  “Daddy,” she began again. “What’s going on between you and Mom?” she asked slowly.

  I sighed. Whining about a sexless marriage wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do, especia
lly to my tantalizing teen stepdaughter. I mean, it’s a fucking embarrassing situation. Billionaire marries housemaid, only to have her turn into lazy ass wife once the papers were signed. I was such a cliché.

  “Nothing, baby,” I said soothingly, adjusting my crotch ever so slightly. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “You know Daddy,” she said, sidling closer to my desk. “I want you to be happy, and if I can help, just let me know,” she said, giving me a meaningful look.

  My breath caught. Was I getting the wrong vibe? Something told me that my little girl was coming onto me with the seductive look in her eyes, those creamy, pale thighs displayed under her skirt.

  “Honey,” I said smoothly. “Your mom and I … We have some things to work out, but you don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “But Daddy, I want you to be happy,” she replied, “and I’m not sure that you are,” she said coyly, nodding towards my crotch. “Daddy,” she added breathily, “doesn’t it hurt down there? Don’t you need someone to help you relax?”

  I was so still that I barely breathed. Was my stepdaughter actually referring to my crotch? This was so fucking wrong. But Cleo took it one step further.

  “Do you want me to suck you, Daddy?” she said, her face serious, her hand reaching over to trace my throbbing length. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t mind, the girls at school talk about it all the time. Wouldn’t it make you feel good?”

  I almost choked. Holy shit, my little girl was offering me a blow job. I knew I had to say no, it was wrong on a million levels, but I found her so refreshing, her straightforward, innocent ways a welcome relief from the deviousness of adult women.

  “Honey,” I said gently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re legally related, even if not by blood.”