Dr. Travis, I Love You: A Secret Baby Medical Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “Don’t worry, Cleo will be home to visit soon,” said Lorena soothingly. “Now my love, why don’t we talk about finances? I need a little more, ten thousand a month just isn’t enough,” she pouted. “There are so many things I need to pay for, the landscaping, our pool cleaners …”

  I sighed. I knew she was fucking the pool boy Carlos but I didn’t give a shit. Lorena could do whatever she wanted now that I had Cleo’s curvy red pussy wrapped around my cock each night, she was no match for that teen twat, its tight, willing, wet warmth. In fact, now whenever I looked at my wife, I just wanted her gone. Shit, that ugly pool dude was doing me a favor keeping her out of my hair. With a grunt, I got out my checkbook.

  “Fifteen thousand enough?” I rumbled.

  “Make it twenty,” Lorena purred, and I silently made out the check, tearing it out and handing it to her.

  “Thank you my love, I’ll make sure Cleo gets part of this as her spending money,” she said. “Now eat your eggs and behave,” she scolded teasingly.

  Glumly, I turned back to my breakfast. It was cold and soggy now, but when my stepdaughter came back … I had visions of slipping eggs into her pussy, scrambled and whole, those lips stretching elastically, her juices lubing the way. The thought made me perk up, and I chewed with more enthusiasm.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cleo

  Two weeks later …

  I miss my Daddy. I’m a star dancer here at the Donkey Club, but I still think back to Drake sometimes … that incredible build, the Crest-white smile, the massive shaft. We’d only had two weeks together before my mom whisked me off to the club, but the memories of that time haunted me still.

  I’d wanted to come home after one week.

  “Mom,” I said patiently into the phone. “I’ve learned all the basics of dancing, in fact management lets me get up on center stage now, even when the place is packed.” I didn’t add that Robert and Lester had made multiple passes at me, all of which I’d rebuffed.

  “Honey,” my mom’s voice trailed. “That’s not the elite level. You know the best girls at the Donkey Club don’t just dance … they fuck,” she said conspiratorially. “The fees are astronomical baby, try to be selected for the Donkey Service.”

  My head was whirling. My mom wanted me to become a whore? It was enough that she’d already put me in this strip club, where I took off my clothes each night for money. I mean, it’s not what most women encourage their eighteen year-old daughters to do, but I get it, this was Lorena’s line of work, and mothers sometimes want their daughters to follow in their footsteps.

  But whoring? That was different. That was prostitution, hands down.

  “Ma,” I said slowly. “That’s not reasonable. I appreciate that you’ve paid for a nice apartment for me, but I shouldn’t have to put out for the Donkey overlords as well.”

  But my mom completely missed the point. Instead of acknowledging that prostitution was illegal, not to mention the long-term damage to my emotional and mental well-being, she focused on the money.

  “Honey, you’re not really working for the Donkey Club if you join their escort service. They take a small set-up fee, but the commission is yours to keep. When I was doing it,” she confided. “I made about five hundred per hook-up, but I hear the fee now is two to three thousand. Plus, there are so many handsome, rich men … you know, your cousin Liliane met her patron this way.”

  That was the other shocking revelation in all of this. Evidently, almost all the women of the Jones clan had taken a turn at the Donkey Club, including my mom, my three aunts, and my five female cousins. I’d thought my cousin Lili had met her rich boyfriend at some bar, but actually the Donkey had been the connection. It was shocking because Preston, Lili’s boyfriend, was a waspy dude, someone descended from Thomas Jefferson who wore madras shorts and liked yachting in his free time. I would never have guessed that he’d been to the Donkey Club, much less hooked up with one of its strippers for a long-term relationship.

  I sighed. Against this backdrop of sheer insanity my mom would never be convinced that stripping and escorting weren’t right for me. But then she said something that stung my heart.

  “Drake’s moved on, baby,” she said softly. “I know you miss him, but Drake has someone else.”

  I sputtered. I’d only been gone two weeks! How could my stepdad have met someone so quickly?

  “You mean you?” I asked sarcastically.

  But my mom didn’t take offense.

  “No baby,” she said slowly. “We were never his only ones. Sure, we were handy because we lived in his house, but he’s a male slut and has been his whole life. You know Marie? The girl who walks his dogs?”

  Of course I knew Marie. We’d been somewhat friendly, Marie coming by twice a day to make sure Otis and Marlo, our German Shepherds, got their exercise. The girl was cute but not stunning. A blonde, petite, maybe twenty five with nice tits.

  “Cleo,” said my mom slowly. “Marie is pregnant with Drake’s child. She’s due in a few months.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. My daddy had been fucking another girl the whole time? And she’d been pregnant with his baby? My mind spun furiously. Sure, Marie was athletic looking, but I didn’t recall seeing a curve to her stomach or the glow of pregnancy. She just looked normal, the same as always.

  But I realized how naïve I’d been. I gasped, my heart hurting, my chin trembling despite my best efforts to look impassive.

  “Honey,” said Lorena slowly. “Drake wanted you to move out. He’s had his fun with you and wants to fuck another woman but didn’t know how to tell you. So he asked me to let you know, bring you to the Donkey to see if you could get a job. Of course,” she said hastily, “he’s a generous man and isn’t tossing you out on your ass with nothing. He’s asked me to make sure you find a nice apartment, get some decent clothes. But honey, this is not the time to come home. Marie’s moved in, big as a beachball, and Drake’s doting like a new dad already. He’s always wanted a child, and with Marie that baby’s a reality.”

  I was so floored that I couldn’t speak. Hot tears trickled down my cheeks as I looked down at the floor. My daddy, the one I’d thought was amazing, handsome, charismatic, who cared about me, was now with another woman? I was hurt, devastated although I told myself I shouldn’t be.

  “Oh I see,” I said quietly.

  “That’s it, honey, buck up,” said my mom. “Try to make a good life for yourself. It’s not that we don’t care about you. But life is complicated, you know? With the baby on the way and everything ….”

  Lorena’s voice trailed off but I couldn’t believe she was so callous about it all. I mean, she should have been doubly threatened with a new woman and a baby living under her nose. So trembling, I asked, “But what about you? Aren’t you afraid that Drake’s going to ask you to leave too?”

  And Lorena laughed at that, her voice tinkling with amusement.

  “Honey, I was never under any illusion that I was anything but a convenience to your stepdad. I was the maid originally, remember? Someone to vacuum his floors and suck his dick when he felt like it. So cheer up, honey,” she encouraged again. “Drake’s going to fund your apartment for two years while you get on your feet, and I had sex with those dolts at the Donkey Club so they’d give you a job. It was all part of the plan, okay baby? Don’t worry about me, I’m going to be fine, just worry about you.”

  And choking back sobs, I hung up the phone. This was some fucking twisted turn of events. My mom and step-dad, they’d propelled me into a den of sin, encouraging me to bare my body, even sell it to the highest bidder. But I was determined to find my own way here on out … Drake’s money be damned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  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 mi
ssed 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.
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  “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?