Chapter 1

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, mt/Fa, Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mult, Consensual, Fiction, Mother, Son, Sister, Daughter, MaleDom, Light Bond, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Polygamy/Polyamory, Anal Sex, Cream Pie, First, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When a gorgeous woman and her two attractive daughters move in next door, 16-year-old Brian's offer to help them is rudely rebuffed. Later, as Brian tries to help the younger daughter, his attempt to help has an unforeseen consequence, leaving Brian stuck in an unusual predicament that gets even stranger. For those of you turned off by any form of BDSM, THIS STORY IS NOT FOR YOU. This story contains mild domination and light flogging, but nothing severe. Everything is voluntary.

Hearing the sound of a vehicle engine next door, I looked up from the book I had been intent on for the last hour. I saw a silver SUV having trouble backing a rental trailer into the driveway. It had to be someone moving in since the house had been sitting empty for six months, ever since my best friend Trevor and his family lost their home to a foreclosure. His mom lost her job when the big factory in town laid-off nearly half of their workers. With more than 500 new job seekers in town, prospects of everyone finding a new job were nil.

Trevor’s dad finally arranged for a transfer to one of his company’s offices in another state where the economy, and hopefully prospects of a job for his wife, were better, but they still lost the house. I felt bad for Trevor--both for losing their home, and for having to leave all of his friends behind.

I nearly laughed at whoever was driving the SUV. Instead, my own ineptness the one time I tried to back up with a trailer left me sympathizing with the driver. Instead of making a fifth attempt to straighten the trailer out, the SUV finally stopped with the trailer turned at a sharp angle to the vehicle. Once the SUV stopped, my curiosity about our new neighbors was quickly satisfied when three doors opened and three gorgeous females exited. The youngest appeared to be my age--sixteen. The eldest was obviously the mother, and I definitely wouldn’t have kicked her out of bed. The older daughter looked to be 18 to 20.

All three had blonde hair; the mother’s hair just reached her shoulders but the girls wore their hair halfway down their back. I almost fell out of the tree when the mom, wearing a pair of tight shorts, leaned over to unhook the trailer with her ass aimed right at me. What an ass it was.

I hoped she and her daughters utilized the pool in their back yard frequently. The six-foot cinder block wall surrounding the pool made it a very private setting. Since all of the houses in the area are single story, someone would have to be on their roof to see down inside the enclosure. Either that, or up in the tree in our back yard where I currently was. The view from the tree included our back yard, the back yard of the neighbors to either side of us, and the driveway of Trevor’s old house.

Eight years ago, Trevor and I built a small, rickety platform in the tree in my back yard. It wasn’t much more than a few boards nailed together on a crude frame, but we loved it. After Dad re-enforced (read: rebuilt entirely) our handiwork, he declared it safe enough for us to use and we spent many hot summer afternoons up there. The breeze blowing through the tree was reasonably cool. We told jokes, played our handheld video games, read, and just talked about whatever struck our fancy. With Trevor gone, I mostly read.

When the women began unloading boxes from the trailer, I had to go offer my help. First, my mother expects me to help our neighbors. To her, anyone living on our street on this block is a neighbor. Second, I’m a closet chauvinist. My mother taught me to hold doors for women, to seat them at the table, and other chauvinistic traits. So far, the girls I’ve dated have appreciated her efforts at training me. Their mothers seem to be impressed, too. Those mothers might be surprised, though, at some of the nasty things “such a nice boy” does with their daughters. I don’t pressure the girls into anything, but if they indicate a willingness, I make sure the girls enjoy the nasty things I do with them as much as I enjoy doing them.

After climbing down from the tree, I put my book in the house and pulled on a shirt. My upper body muscle definition might impress the younger daughter, but meeting the new neighbors half-dressed would be tacky. Besides, I knew the younger daughter would have a chance to see me tomorrow when I mowed Mrs. Grimes’ lawn since her house was right across the street.

“Hi, I’m Brian, your neighbor. Want some help?” I asked pleasantly.

“No thanks. We aren’t helpless. We can handle it ourselves,” the mother replied testily.

“He probably hopes to rummage through our underwear when we aren’t looking,” the older daughter sniggered.

“And look at our asses when we have to bend over,” the younger daughter added caustically.

“Fine, knock yourselves out. I’ll tell my mom not to bother you either,” I huffed as I turned and stormed off. “What a bunch of bitches,” I thought to myself. I was proud of myself for holding my tongue and not telling them what I really thought of them.

I ignored them for the rest of the day, telling Mom what they said when she got home; she was shocked. Saturday I went over and mowed Mrs. Grimes’ lawn for her. She’s an elderly widow, living on Social Security and the money her grandson Bruce sends her. With as much as Bruce sends her, I knew she could afford to pay me, but I told her to enjoy herself with the money her grandson sends.

Even though I hope to be so spry when I’m 70, there was no way she could mow her own lawn. I warned her about the new neighbors, too. I could tell that she was pissed about their treatment of me when she shouted across the street at the mother, telling her that she didn’t mind me looking at her ass since I mowed her lawn free every Saturday. We laughed the rest of the afternoon at the shocked look on the mother bitch’s face.

Sunday I was again at Mrs. Grimes’ house, this time for our nearly weekly “date.” She has a monstrous flat screen television that Bruce bought for her. With the sound system he included and had the electronics store hook up, it almost feels like we were there at the NASCAR track watching Bruce compete. She loves to turn the sound up at the start of the race, making the whole house reverberate with the roar of forty or more powerful race car engines simultaneously accelerating towards the start line. The older bitch daughter hollered at me as I crossed the street. “Didn’t you mow her lawn yesterday? What, are you going to trim her bush today?” she cackled.

“Hey, sexy senior citizens need love, too,” I shot back, stunning her.

Mrs. Grimes was hanging onto the front door frame, laughing hysterically when I got there. “Her mouth is still hanging open,” she gasped, pointing back across the street. Over the next two days, Mrs. Grimes and I both had to explain my shouted remark and the reason for it to several neighbors who heard it. When we did, the entire neighborhood shunned the three bitches, too.

Four hours after the race started, we were screaming at the television as Bruce fended off a last lap charge by the current points leader, winning his second race of the season. Almost halfway through the racing season, he now trailed the points leader by a mere six points in the overall standings and both drivers now had two wins.

“Sounds like your girlfriend’s a screamer,” the older bitch daughter commented derisively, taking another shot at me as I left.

“Yeah, but you should see the smile on her face. It probably won’t go away for a week,” I retorted, otherwise ignoring her as I headed home. I wondered if she’d been waiting there since I went over to Mrs. Grimes’ house. “Must suck to not have a life,” I thought, shaking my head. When Mrs. Grimes came to our house for dinner that night, she had Mom laughing so hard that tears were running down their faces when she told Mom about my retorts.

I had paying customers for my lawn service, too. When the weather started warming up and the lawns started growing, I mowed two every day after school, and four on Saturday. Even during the winter, I had a few customers who wanted me to over seed their Bermuda grass lawns so they were green year-round. I had to mow those lawns once a week. Mrs. Grimes originally protested about me not charging her to mow her lawn, but finally worked out a deal with my mom. We go to her house twice during the week for dinner. Mom works weekdays, and appreciates not having to cook those two nights.

Sunday, Mrs. Grimes comes over for supper or dinner, depending on what time the race is. Surprisingly, there were no comments from the bitches when I escorted Mrs. Grimes over to our house, her arm through mine, for dinner. Nor were there any when I escorted her back to her house after dinner.

During the summer, I mow the lawns in the morning before it gets hot. I also pick up a few temporary customers who are going on vacation or new customers who just don’t have the time to take care of their lawn. Since Dad died five years ago, we’ve done okay financially. He had a good insurance policy, and the drunk driver that hit and killed him actually had insurance. Mom even sold dad’s photography business for a decent chunk of change. Between the three, and Mom’s full-time job as a paralegal, we aren’t hurting for money.

Aside from the nights that we have dinner with Mrs. Grimes, I usually have a date in the evening. I have three girlfriends that I rotate dates between. Each one gets one date a week. All three girls know about the others. I may be a horndog, but I don’t lie to my girlfriends. Some dates end up in my bedroom, others don’t--lady’s choice. My mom doesn’t exactly approve of my sexual habits, but insists that I not subject the girls to the backseat of a car or someplace equally dangerous.

Friday night’s date is hit or miss. Sometimes one of the girls wants me to do nasty things with her a second time during the week and I reserve Friday night for those occasions. Both Mom and Mrs. Grimes know the girls I date. The girls even join us occasionally for dinner. Mom and Mrs. Grimes were surprised the first time they found out that each of the girls knew about the others.

Mom accompanied my three girlfriends and me to watch the fireworks for the Fourth of July this summer. Despite disapproving of my sex life, she seems amused with my collection of girlfriends.

I didn’t hear from the bitches for nearly a week. In fact, the next time I heard from them was laughter coming from their pool. Engrossed in a good book, I hadn’t even heard them come outside. I almost fell out of the tree when I saw the three women sunning themselves topless around their pool. The tiny bottom half of a thong each of them wore left them practically nude and I could detect no tan lines. It took no time at all for me to spew a load of cum that arced gracefully through the air all the way to the ground.

I spent the next two days digging out Dad’s old cameras and figuring out how to use them. As a professional photographer, he had top of the line digital equipment five years ago. The guy who bought the business didn’t want to buy dad’s cameras, so Mom kept them. Even though Dad’s equipment was six years old, it was better than the small digital camera Mom bought for me last year, but it was a lot more complex.

Finally, I was ready to see if I could get photos or a video of the girls and hauled the cameras up to the tree house and set everything up. I was disappointed that they didn’t come outside today, the first time this week they hadn’t spent the afternoon around the pool. Just when I was ready to take the camera equipment back inside, wondering if they’d seen the tree house, I heard their SUV pull into the garage. I double checked the focus of both the still camera and the video camera and waited anxiously. The cameras were set on tripods so they would take sharper pictures, even if I were jerking off--again.

Fifteen long minutes later, I flicked on the video camera when the mother bitch started opening the sliding glass door. Once again, the tiny thong bikini bottom she wore left her looking nude. “Grab the sunscreen, Karen,” she shouted back into the house. I was mesmerized watching her large yet firm breasts swaying seductively as she walked. My cock throbbed again after her daughter tossed her the suntan lotion and I watched the mother bitch rubbing lotion all over her own body, especially her tits. I made sure the video camera was focused on her and whipped out my cock. I geysered cum over the edge of the tree house platform onto the grass below, watching the mother bitch’s hands caress her body as she rubbed the lotion in.

I changed the focus when she walked over to her daughter, figuring her daughter would now be oiling herself. Instead, she jumped and squeaked in surprise when her mom squirted a glob of sunscreen in the middle of her back. “You made the mess, you clean it up,” the daughter commented as she rolled her head to face her mother. Her tone of voice was playful, even seductive. My girlfriends used the same tone when they were letting me know they wanted to have sex. I did a double take when the daughter stuck her tongue out, then flicked it suggestively at her mother.

Chuckling, the mother sat on her daughter’s legs and worked the sunscreen into her back, adding more as she worked her way down. She didn’t hesitate to untie the strings holding the bottom of her daughter’s thong on and continued oiling her taut ass. I nearly fell out of the tree house when she slipped her oil-covered fingers between her daughter’s legs and rubbed.

“Is that where you needed the tanning oil?” she asked suggestively.

“Oh, yeah,” her daughter moaned as she spread her legs more to give her mother better access. I was glad the cameras were on tripods because my hand was madly jerking my cock as I watched the mother finger her daughter. Less than a minute later, the daughter rolled onto her back. As the mother continued fingering her, the daughter was madly squeezing and pulling on her own nipples.

As shocked by what I was seeing, I was so stunned that I momentarily stopped stroking myself when the mother knelt at the foot of the chaise lounge and moved forward until her face was at her daughter’s pussy. “Fuck, yeah, lick me you cunt,” the daughter groaned as she twined her fingers in her mother’s hair and pulled her face tighter. Seeing the mother move her hand towards where she was licking, I wished I could be there to see exactly what she was doing. Maybe I could learn a trick or two.

I came long before the daughter did, once again fertilizing the lawn beneath the tree. I wondered if all the cum I spewed down there recently would affect the grass. I spewed another load after they changed places and I watched the daughter eating her mother out. Long after they went back inside, I took the cameras back to my room, transferring the footage to a thumb drive that I stashed in my secret hiding place and deleting everything from the cards in the cameras.

Dad and I had built a bookcase from the wood of an old waterbed several years ago. It was built to fit snugly inside the right side of my closet where there was an 18-inch deep space. Three years ago, I took it out and chiseled a narrow gap at the back of one of the two sides. The hiding place was just beneath the lowest shelf, about eight inches from the floor. To see it, you had to have a flashlight and your face on the floor. Normally, my shoes filled the space beneath the lowest shelf. The gap was just big enough to hide a thumb drive.

I originally made it to stash the porn I downloaded. Until now, I hadn’t touched the thumb drive for more than a year, preferring to search the internet for new videos. After deleting everything already on the thumb drive, I transferred the video and several still shots to it and replaced it in my hiding place. My mom routinely checked the computer for video files and photos, and checked to see what web sites I visited. Since she never questioned me about the sites I visited, I was sure that I’d figured a way around her snooping, but wasn’t taking any chances with this video.

The next afternoon I got more good pictures of all three bitches lying in the sun and found myself angry that such beautiful women had to be bitches. All three women were gorgeous, but the youngest daughter was my favorite. Not yet as well endowed as her mother or sister, she still sported an impressive pair of boobs. Her body was curvaceously padded in all the right places, and her face was a wet dream. Unfortunately, with their bitchy attitudes, even if they miraculously offered an afternoon of sex, I’d turn them down. Just because I wouldn’t kick most women out of my bed doesn’t mean I’d let one like these three in it. I do have some standards, however meager they are. Today, there was no sex between any of them. The mother and older daughter acted as if nothing happened yesterday.

Thursday afternoon their SUV left again while I was in the tree house, so I went back inside to get the cameras. Fortunately, the ladder up to the tree house is on the side of the tree not visible from the pool. Despite there being no action yesterday, I set the cameras up; I wasn’t disappointed.

It took a little longer after the car returned before anyone appeared. I’d been watching the sliding glass door attentively, and switched on the video camera as soon as I saw the older daughter through the glass. I’m surprised that they didn’t hear me gasp when the daughter came out with a leash in her hand. She was leading her mother who was crawling on her hands and knees with the leash attached to a dog collar around her neck. That concrete had to be murder on her knees.

After ordering her to “stay,” the daughter went back inside the house and came out with a small overnight bag. Rummaging through the bag, she ordered her mother to lie on her back on the chaise lounge. These chaise lounges aren’t the flimsy aluminum ones you see for sale all over town every summer. There were solid wooden chaise lounges, meant to last for years. After Tuesday, I knew they would hold two squirming, writhing adults.

I gasped quietly when the daughter began securing the mother’s wrists and ankles to opposite ends of the chaise lounge with Velcro restraints. Once the mother was secured, the daughter extracted a flogger from the overnight bag and started whipping her mother. First, she whipped her stomach. I almost came when she began whipping her breasts. As far away as I was, I could hear the flogger striking flesh and the mother’s gasps and grunts as she tried to stay quiet enough that none of the neighbors would hear her cry out. The daughter whipped her slowly for nearly half an hour before she quit, teasingly sucking her mother’s nipples, or fingering her clit between lashes.

I came three times, geysering cum to the lawn below the tree. The mother came four times that I noticed, one of them when the daughter landed several blows in a row on her drooling pussy. I managed to get a couple of super close-up still photos with Dad’s old camera that showed her red pussy, swollen labia, the copious lubrication leaking from it, as well as several red stripes where individual strands of the flogger kissed her skin intimately.

“Shit, we’re going to be late picking Pam up,” the bitch sister grumbled as she released the restraints holding her mother.

“Thank you,” the mother said emotionally to her daughter as she hugged her and kissed her passionately.

“You can thank me Tuesday when it’s my turn,” the daughter growled playfully.

“You go get Pam while I put everything away and shower,” the mother said. The daughter hurried into the house, and their SUV pulled out of the garage a couple of minutes later. While the daughter was getting ready to go, the mother was busy masturbating, her strangled gasp when she came only slightly quieter than those her daughter elicited with the flogger.

Once she came, she stretched languorously, working out the residual stiffness from being secured for so long. Then she stood, unsteadily at first, and gathered up the toys her daughter left. Those went into the overnight case and the mother disappeared back into the house.

Despite the fact that they were bitches, and despite the inappropriateness of their behavior, I was touched that mother and daughter were so close. I wondered if their bitchiness was to keep people at arm’s length so they didn’t get close enough to learn their secret.

I was back out there Tuesday afternoon when the SUV pulled into the garage again. I watched expectantly as the two bitches came out to the pool. This time, the daughter was secured to the chaise lounge. The mother used the same light blue flogger on her front. After securing a gag in her daughter’s mouth, she switched to a crop, and then used clothespins on her daughter’s nipples and the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her muffled screams were still slightly audible in the tree when her mother used the crop to knock each clothespin off. I realized that her muffled screams were probably not audible at ground level since sound travels upwards, and the wall around the pool would block any sound below six feet.

I again fertilized the lawn with three loads of cum, although the daughter had at least twice as many orgasm’s as I did. This time, the daughter stayed behind to clean up while the mother went to pick up the younger daughter.

It was interesting on Wednesday when all three women again sunned themselves. The older daughter showed no sign of the treatment she received the previous day. Her skin wasn’t bruised, or even pink. They obviously did this before and knew what they were doing.

After recording them each being flogged one more time, I decided I had enough fantasy material for this next winter and left the cameras in my room. I did make sure the video cards in both cameras were empty each time I used them.

I still watched whichever show was playing live at their pool each afternoon. Most days it was sunbathing nearly nude. Tuesday and Thursday, it was the light BDSM.

When I finished mowing and edging Mrs. Grimes’ lawn Saturday, I saw the younger bitch, sitting on the low cinderblock wall separating our property and theirs. It’s about two feet high at the front of the property, stair-stepping one block at a time until it reaches six feet high where the back yard starts. The daughter was straddling the wall, being obvious that she was watching me work. She was wearing short shorts and a halter-top that showed off her figure. “She’s been sitting there for an hour watching you,” Mrs. Grimes told me.

“I know, she probably has some rude remark she can’t wait to make,” I answered with venom in my voice.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been watching her and she looks lonely,” Mrs. Grimes observed.

“I wonder why,” I answered sarcastically.

“Do me a favor and play nice unless she shows her true colors,” Mrs. Grimes asked. I agreed, finished gathering my tools, and headed across the street for the confrontation I expected.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hello,” I answered noncommittally, waiting for her snide remark.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied neutrally.

“I see everyone our age laughing, talking, and playing together. Yet, none of them will even say hi to me when I try to start a conversation. Why won’t they talk to me?” she asked. I could hear real emotion in her voice and decided either she deserved an award for her acting, or she was totally clueless.

“You are kidding, right?” I asked. The tears in her eyes told me she wasn’t.

“You really don’t know, do you?” I asked as I moved closer. I was still wary, but the tears made my Damsel-in-Distress mode kick in. When she shook her head, she shook the first tear loose.

“First, you have to understand that these people have all lived here for five or more years. Everyone knows everyone else. They especially know me. I help Mrs. Grimes across the street every week by mowing her lawn for free. I’ve helped nearly every other family on the block at some point in the last few years. I’ve earned their respect, and I treat them with respect.

“The day you moved in, I came over to help you. Yes, part of the reason was because I saw three women with no man to help them, but I would have offered my help even if there was a man helping you or if it had been a father and his two sons.

“What I got in return for the offer of neighborly help was being subjected to verbal abuse and humiliation by all three of you. Your mother insinuated that I was offering help because I didn’t think three women could do the job. I figured that you had already loaded everything that day and would be getting tired, just like three guys would.

“Your sister suggested that I planned to rummage through your underwear. I’m sorry, but unless there is a woman waiting for me to remove the underwear, women’s underwear doesn’t give me any thrills. Finally, you suggested that I only came over to check out the three of you. You are all beautiful, and I’m sure I would have looked a few times, but that wasn’t why I came over to help.

“I told my mother and Mrs. Grimes what each of you said. They both took your insults personally, and that’s why Mrs. Grimes commented to your mother that I could watch her ass since I was mowing her lawn for free. I’m sure they told some of the neighbors, who told other neighbors, and so on,” I explained.

“That was pretty funny. My mom fumed about that for an hour,” she chuckled. “I’m sorry I was rude. I was just following what my sister and mother were doing,” she apologized.

“Thank you for the apology, but I’m afraid it’s going to be some time before the neighbors forget about it,” I warned.

“So I have to keep going back to my old friend’s house on Tuesday and Thursday,” she lamented.

“I’m sure Mrs. Grimes would give you a chance if you want to go over there tomorrow afternoon. She and I watch the NASCAR race every weekend. I could ask,” I offered.

“Could you?” she asked hopefully as she looked warily back at her house.

“By the way, I’m Brian,” I reintroduced myself.

“I remember,” she said, blushing. “I’m Pam Walker. I’ll be a junior this year.”

“So will I,” I answered, getting a second smile from her.

I ran back across the street. Mrs. Grimes had been watching from her front door. When I explained, she agreed to let Pam come over to watch the race tomorrow.

Pam explained that her sister had been raped, and that was why her sister and her mother hated men. Pam’s mother wouldn’t let her date, warning her about all of the nasty things boys would want her to do.

“She is right about that,” I agreed. “You are beautiful, and the boys will want to do all sorts of nasty things with you. You just have to find a boy who won’t push you into doing things you don’t want to. It’s been my experience that girls want to do nasty things as much as boys do, but society expects better of them,” I explained.

“Even you?” she asked coyly.

“I’m probably one of the nastiest, although I’ve never pushed one of my girlfriends to do anything. If we do anything, it’s because they want to, not because they think I want them to,” I told her.

“You expect me to believe that you just wait around for girls to ask you to fool around,” she asked, starting to get angry.

I handed her my cell phone. “Pick any girl’s name in there and call her. Ask if I ever pushed her to do something, or if she ever heard about me pushing one of my girlfriends to do something,” I suggested.

When she didn’t take me up on the offer, I called Yvette, one of my three current girlfriends and held the phone where Pam could hear it, too.

“Hi, Brian,” Yvette answered cheerfully.

“Hi, Yvette; I’m talking to the new girl next door to us and she doesn’t believe that I won’t push a girl to do something she doesn’t want to. Her name is Pam, here she is,” I said, then handed Pam the phone.

Pam blushed when she took it, but spoke to Yvette for several minutes. She explained about being bitchy to me when we first met, and then about apologizing. Pam’s side of the conversation after that was all one-word answers or comments for a couple of minutes. Evidently, Yvette was going to call my other two girlfriends--Penny and Dianne--and bring them over to meet Pam in a few minutes.

“Three girlfriends?” she asked me when she hung up.

“Obviously, all three know about each other, so what’s the problem?” I asked. “They date other guys, too. It’s not as if any of us are going to be getting married soon. All four of us will be going away to college in two years,” I explained.

“So, you are just using them to get your jollies,” she asked, starting to get her dander up again.

“Tell you what, I’m going inside to shower and wash off all of the grass clippings and sweat. They should be here in a few minutes. Ask them the same question since you aren’t going to believe me,” I said caustically. I took my tools inside the garage, cleaned them, and put them away. I saw Yvette’s car pull up as I was walking into the house to shower.

I heard the doorbell while I was showering, and yelped in surprise a minute later when the shower door opened, thinking that my mom was the only one in the house. “Hey, stud,” Penny growled as she climbed into the shower with me. The water was getting cool by the time I finished eating her to an orgasm and filling her with cum so we had to rinse off quickly.

My mom just rolled her eyes at us when we stopped in the kitchen to grab sodas for everyone. “Minks,” she commented accusingly, trying to sound angry. The laughter in her eyes belied her words.

“This she mink is very happy,” Penny purred as she hugged Mom and kissed her cheek. “You should be proud to have raised a son who is so considerate of the women in his life,” she teased.

“I’d be prouder if he left me some hot water,” she mock complained, but gave Penny a playful swat on the butt.

Pam just stared when we waltzed outside. Anyone could tell that Penny was feeling happily fucked, even if her hair hadn’t been wet. “No way; his mom’s in there,” Pam gasped.

“I know; who do you think answered the door and told me Brian was in the shower?” Penny asked nonchalantly.

“She doesn’t care?” Pam gasped.

“She cares,” Yvette interjected.

“Each one of us gets the lecture about safe sex the first time we come over,” Dianne added.

“She told us that she made Brian promise never to make a girl suffer in the back seat of a car (not that my car even had a back seat), or in a secluded place that could be dangerous,” Penny explained as she combed out her wet hair.

“So you just went into their house and climbed into the shower with him?” Pam asked, still surprised.

“Scared him half to death when I opened the shower door, too,” she laughed.

“How can the three of you keep from being jealous of each other?” Pam asked.

The girls looked at each other and shrugged before Penny answered. “Everyone knows Brian plans to go to college, and so do the three of us, so nothing we do is going to be permanent. The rumor at school is that Brian’s well endowed, knows how to make a woman very happy, and keeps his mouth shut afterwards,” she said.

“Rumor? You don’t know?” Pam asked Penny.

“Oh, I definitely know,” she sighed contentedly while making doe-eyes at me.

“But Brian won’t talk, and we girls are selective about who we tell,” Dianne added.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want any of the school sluts to hear about it,” Yvette joked, setting the three girls to laughing.

“That was a joke,” Penny explained to Pam. “We’re probably three of the biggest sluts in school with how many times we’ve dragged Brian into bed.”

“Won’t you get a reputation?” Pam asked.

“Nah, nobody at school can figure Brian out. Several of his old girlfriends told everyone that he never did more than kiss them. The ones he does more than kiss with are careful whom they tell. Sure, word gets around, but nobody knows whether to believe it or not, and Brian won’t ever say anything either way. We may make out a bit with the other guys we date, or even jerk them off, but their dick doesn’t go anywhere inside our bodies. If it does, we’re cut off until we get a clean test for STDs,” Penny answered.

“So Brian scratches your itch so you can date other guys and not get a reputation?” Pam asked.

“And licks it,” Yvette interposed, getting another round of laughter.

“So you really do just wait for them to come to you,” Pam asked me.

“No, I asked each of them out on a date. After we got to know each other better, if they hinted that they wanted to do more than kiss, we did more than kiss, always stopping when they told me to,” I explained.

“Until we don’t tell him to stop,” Dianne said, grinning.

“And some girls don’t do anything more than kiss?” Pam asked.

“Lalia swears all she and Brian did was kiss, and they dated for six months. Brian ‘will neither confirm nor deny’ any rumors about any of the girls he dates,” Dianne explained.

“Have you dated girls and only kissed them?” Pam asked me point-blank.

“Yes, but I won’t tell you who or how many,” I replied.

“And that’s what protects our reputations,” Penny reminded Pam.

“And he protects other things, too,” Yvette said. “His second day of high school his freshman year, Brian saw that Carl, the school bully, had a girl cornered and she was trying to get away. When she started getting loud, Carl grabbed her upper arm really hard and told her to shut up.”

“Brian walked up to him and told him to leave her alone,” Penny said. “Carl told Brian to fuck off but Brian told him again to let the girl go. Carl was a senior, and had six-inches and a hundred pounds on Brian. When Carl turned and shoved Brian away, Brian grabbed Carl’s wrists and fell backwards, flipping Carl clear across the hall.”

“Carl ended up with two broken wrists and got kicked out of school. Where he had the girl pinned in the corner behind the lockers, the surveillance cameras didn’t cover,” Dianne added. “When he turned to confront Brian, the camera picked up Carl gripping Grace’s arm. Her parents and Brian’s mom both filed assault charges against Carl and he’s in jail for two more years since he was 18 when it happened, they were both minors, and the assault happened at school.

“The security video showed Brian grabbing Carl’s wrists to keep from falling as Carl was shoving him. Off-balance, Carl fell forward and almost landed on Brian. Instead, Brian used his feet to push Carl over him. Brian ended up the hero,” she gushed.

“Everyone who went to junior high school with Brian knew that he’d been taking martial arts for years. Carl went to a different junior high and didn’t know Brian. He wouldn’t have known him anyway since he was four years older,” Penny added.

“Then Carl got three of his buddies and told everyone they were going to beat Brian to a pulp,” Yvette continued. “The funny thing is that someone found all four of those guys in the park one afternoon, beaten so badly they couldn’t move. The only way the cops found them is that someone used one of their cell phones to call 9-1-1 and left it by one of the unconscious bodies. It looked like a whole street gang worked them over. The four all claim a gang mistook them for members of a rival gang and jumped them. The cops still questioned Brian, but he didn’t have a single scratch, bruise, or scraped knuckle on him so they let him go.

“Grace, the girl Brian rescued, was new in town and asked Brian out on a date. Grace was a junior, and all the girls warned her that it was social suicide to date a freshman. She told them that she didn’t care how old he was; he had more balls than all of the older guys did. Those guys just walked by and didn’t do or say anything. After a month, she came to school with a smile on her face that could only mean one thing.

“She told her two girlfriends that Brian rocked her world the first time she had sex with him. He listened to her and did what she wanted and she had more orgasms than she could count. Her dad was in the military and they moved again over Christmas break, but she made sure to let several girls know they were fools if they didn’t hop in the sack with Brian,” Dianne added.

“Now, there are fewer problems with guys getting grabby, especially with any girl Brian has ever dated. No guy would dare piss off one of the girls Brian dated because they know they’ll still have to answer to Brian,” Yvette told her.

“Anytime Brian starts dating a new girl, everyone in school knows by noon the next day. She instantly becomes as popular as one of the cheerleaders. It’s kind of like Brian’s Stamp of Approval or something. Guys fall all over themselves to ask her out knowing that the girls he dates usually date other guys, too,” Penny explained.

“God, you guys make him sound like a rock star,” Pam complained.

“Nah, he can’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Yvette chuckled.

“Sex God, maybe,” Penny mused, getting agreement from Dianne.

“How about cock star?” Yvette suddenly asked, setting all four girls to giggling.

“Just how does a girl get noticed and asked on a date?” Pam asked coyly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve already been noticed,” Yvette giggled.

“Really?” Pam asked me excitedly.

“You’re hard not to notice,” I admitted. I didn’t expound on how much of her I’d noticed.

“Now all you have to do is get your mother to let you date me,” I reminded her. I was pretty sure that would happen sometime near Christmas of the second year in a row that Hell froze over.

“Great, I’ll be 90 before she lets me date,” Pam groaned.

“Probably 100 if she learns that I’m such a nasty boy,” I chuckled.

I left the girls talking when Mom called me in. I had learned that Pam was as smart as she was beautiful, and she would probably share advanced classes with the four of us. Pam watched intently for any sign of jealousy as I kissed each of my girlfriends goodbye. Yvette left, too, so she could get ready for our date tonight.

Since I’d just showered, I was ready for my date early so I took a few minutes to brush the dust off my car with a special soft cloth brush. I sighed contentedly when I finally started it and listened to the throb of the 427 cubic inch 435 horsepower engine before backing the car out of the garage. Knowing that Yvette preferred the convertible, I took off the T-top roof panels and removed the rear window.

Getting my mother to agree to let me restore a 1969 Corvette Stingray took considerable pleading and many promises to behave with it. If I get a speeding ticket for more than ten miles an hour over the speed limit, I lose the car until I’m 18. If I get any two speeding tickets in a year, I lose the car until I’m 18. So far (knock on wood), in the few months since I got my license, I haven’t had a ticket or an accident.

It’s possible the defensive driving course and the expensive three-day evasive driving course she insisted that I take have something to do with that. The parents of every new girl I date (now that I drive) have been impressed enough with the certificates I got from the two courses to allow their daughter into the car with me.

When I backed into the street, Pam was still sitting where I left her earlier, her mouth hanging open in surprise. I noticed Mother Bitch step out of her house, wanting to find the car that sounded like a race car. Driving slowly, I waved to both women before turning my attention back to the road.

Everyone else in the neighborhood has already ridden in the car. Every man, woman, teen, and child old enough not to need a car seat has made a couple of circuits around the block. Even Bruce, Mrs. Grimes’ NASCAR driver grandson wanted a ride in it. Aside from Mom and Mr. Ferris, the auto shop teacher who oversaw the car’s restoration, Bruce is the only other person I’ve let drive the car. To repay me, he arranged for tickets and pit passes for six of us for this year’s race in Fontana. I took my three girlfriends, Mom, and Mrs. Grimes. The girls enjoyed seeing all of the famous drivers Bruce introduced us to. Several of the Monster Energy NASCAR Cup drivers had heard from Bruce about the car and talked me into giving them a ride on Saturday while the Xfinity race was underway.

When I got to the corner, I noticed in the rear view mirror that both Pam and her mother were standing at the curb, still staring at the car. Yvette has simple tastes. Her preferred choice of restaurant usually has a drive through. She explained before that she’d rather spend the extra time in bed than waiting for dinner to be cooked and served. After watching the movie she wanted to see, we headed to my house.

Yvette is the only one of my current girlfriends whose mother knows we’re having sex. After an embarrassingly detailed discussion with Yvette (according to Yvette), her mother agreed that Yvette could spend all night with me. On school nights, I have to have her home by 6:30 the next morning. That still gives us time in the morning for a couple of orgasms, and maybe even a quickie while we shower. Yvette’s mom is a lot like mine. She doesn’t necessarily approve of us having sex, but realizes she can’t stop Yvette. Once she was sure we were being as safe as possible, she relented.

Since it was Sunday morning, Yvette and I were able to sleep in. Okay, so we didn’t sleep in, we snuck in another rousing fuck. I used a technique I figured out after doing online research and it drives the girls crazy. I perfected the technique on Grace, using some of what she told me about pleasing a female. Every girl that she told about me, she insisted that they try what I call the butterfly position. Now, each girlfriend and former girlfriend does the same to any new girls I date.

The technique requires a bit of manual dexterity and coordination, but involves vaginal intercourse with the girl lying on her back and me on my right side. I insert two fingers alongside my cock. The fingers tap the G-spot while I make short, deep thrusts to stimulate the A-spot, which is near the cervix. When the woman is extremely near to or just beginning her orgasm, quickly removing one of the two lubricated fingers and spearing it through her sphincter results in a monumental orgasm.

The girls I’ve used it on pass out about a quarter of the time. The rest of the time, they’re wiped out for several minutes. It’s definitely not something to try when you’re short on time.

Yvette even helped me fix breakfast this morning. The smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking woke Mom and she joined us for breakfast. Mom blushed when Yvette teased her about wearing one of my trademark blue T-shirts, identical to the one Yvette was wearing. Somehow, the last several girlfriends have started a ritual where they claim one of my blue T-shirts after we have sex for the first time. The girls claim they make the best sleeping shirt. Obviously, Mom didn’t have to qualify for the one she started wearing after the girls told her how comfortable they were. As tall as I am, the shirts usually reach mid-thigh on a girl--unless she’s unusually tall.

The only problem is that my mom wears the shirt the same way the girls do--sans bra. Well, I don’t know if it’s exactly the same way because I decreed that the girls couldn’t wear anything under my shirts and I wasn’t about to check to see if my mother was complying--or if she even knew about the requirement.

I love watching my girlfriends’ unfettered breasts moving under the shirts, but I have to force my eyes away from Mom’s swaying breasts and hard nipples each time she wears my T-shirt. She teased me the first time she caught me looking, asking if I didn’t have enough girls’ breasts to watch. She has caught me looking enough that she now just accepts it for what it is--an extreme compliment to her beauty and sexiness.

Pam was walking across the street to Mrs. Grimes’ house when I took Yvette home. Once again, Pam just stared, mouth open in surprise. Yvette waved to her with the hand that wasn’t busy playing in my lap.

When I got home and made it across the street to Mrs. Grimes’ house, the pre-race talk shows were already on. I brought our favorite dip, one that Yvette and I made this morning--sour cream mixed with half the contents of a foil packet of taco seasoning mix. Mrs. Grimes provides the chips and drinks, usually sweetened sun tea in the summer. Having grown up in South Carolina, Mrs. Grimes loves sweet tea and introduced me to it. I was a convert after the first glass.

Pam had dozens of questions for me about the car and my date. I answered the ones about the car, and only one about last night’s date. She was curious how Yvette managed to spend the night so I explained. She was impressed that I bought my own car. She wouldn’t have been impressed with the hulk I bought originally.

Mr. Ferris is the auto shop teacher and lives four doors down from us. When I asked if he would help me restore a 1969 Corvette, he nearly drooled. I bought the junked car and paid for all of the parts and supplies to restore the car. It cost nearly $4,000 to restore it to this condition, but he talked me into entering it in a couple of local car shows. We didn’t win, but got lots of people fawning over the car. One woman left us doubled over in laughter after commenting that the car needed a backseat. She lost her virginity in the passenger seat of a 1968 Corvette and had kinks in her neck for days.

Pam was also surprised that I paid for my own car insurance and gas. That and all of the dates I go on take a large chunk out of what I make mowing lawns. I still have a college fund I add to, but it will be gone in less than a year unless I get scholarships, not that we don’t have the money to cover it. I just prefer to pay my own way as much as possible.

By the first caution flag of the race, Pam was leaning comfortably against me so I put my arm around her. She practically purred and snuggled closer. By the halfway point of the race, she had me sitting sideways on the love seat and she was sitting between my legs, practically lying on top of me. I gave her a strong hug in warning when her hand drifted to the lump she was laying on. One thing I don’t do is make out with my girlfriends at Mrs. Grimes’ house or in front of my mother or Mrs. Grimes.

Mother Bitch gave me the evil eye when I escorted Pam home after the race. I think it was only the fact that Mrs. Grimes was similarly attached to my other elbow that kept her from blowing a gasket. “That poor girl,” Mrs. Grimes commented sadly, as we walked to my house and the dinner Mom had ready.

My thanks to my editors, Gordon Johnson, Lonelydad, Shyguy, and Thornfoote for their words of encouragement, as well as necessary criticism, corrections, and reality checks that I hope made this a better story.

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