Daisy - Sex Stories

Daisy

... in a place just like this.

The Lucky Charm proved to be all she imagined. The placed smelled of polished refinement with a hint of class. Expensive. There was soft lighting in the entrance hall. Visibility was dimmed to a candle-soft yellow. Above them, lamp fixtures were nestled in cone-shaped sconces, casting light-beams that manipulated shadows and set the scene for seduction. It’s what a place like this did to a girl like her—seduced her. The walls were darkly paneled, which was a nice touch to the black-cherry leather chaise trimmed in copper where guests could wait. Together they approached the host’s stand. She stepped over the mirrored surface of the marbled floor and saw her wide-eyed expression reflected back.

Daisy found it hard to curb the giddy bubbles that popped and fizzed in her stomach. She batted her eyes and smiled sweetly. Such a treat. She looked to the man standing at the four-foot tall podium. A small green-and-gold desk lamp shone down over the ledger he studied. The yellow luminance cast the maître d,’ dressed in head-to-toe black attire, in an interesting light. Almost creepy. He was lean, sinewy, with a receding hairline, pale white skin—odd for a resident of a desert town. The man had a pointed nose, shaped like the beak of a Toucan.

Pete cleared his throat. That’s right, baby, take charge, thought Daisy. She figured the man intentionally ignored them. When a pair of beady eyes flipped up above gold-rimmed spectacles, then dropped in ...

... abject dismissal, she was proven right. Daisy narrowed her eyes. The casino manager had stopped to speak to someone on his staff so they were presently unescorted. She fumed. Growing up in the Hollow with the town divided into haves and have-nots, she’d taken her fair share of backhanded compliments and blatant disrespect. Especially when she snagged the most popular football jock from the most respected farming family. Mrs. Doyle had envisioned a different type of girl for her son. The rumors got so bad her father had the nerve to forbid her from dating him. She didn’t care what her dad thought; therefore, she sure as hell wouldn’t care about this jerk. Who did this asshole think he was?

“I know you see us standing here,” said Daisy. Pete squeezed her hand; a silent order to behave that further irritated her. She snatched her hand away. Her mama said that you didn’t have to get loud or ghetto to get your point across. Daisy agreed. But mama never said to take no shit from some beanpole with a funky attitude, either. The words rose in her throat and reached her lips as she prepared to give the man the business, before he spoke.

“Reservation?” His voice came across nasal and dry.

“The lady and gentleman are guests of Mr. Keane’s.” The casino manager appeared at their side with an apologetic smile. She noticed the crypt-keeper had a new awareness in his scarecrow eyes.

“That’s our reservation,” said Daisy in triumph, the corner of her mouth lifting in sass. Now she ...