I met Cindy Lou when I was fucking Marlene.

Fucking Marlene wasn't something I did all the time, only when her husband, Homer, was out of town. Homer'd left about a half hour ago for a three-day fishing trip.

Marlene was about forty and looked sixty from the neck up, with enough wrinkled skin to make an extra face, but, hot damn, she loved to fuck. I didn't care if she was Aunt Irene's best friend and twice my age. I just cared she loved to wrap her mouth or her pussy around my cock.

She parked her car in the garage and I parked behind her. We raced in the house headed for the bedroom, but we never made it. I fucked her on the kitchen table. She sucked my cock in the doorway to the living room to get it hard again. In the middle of the living room, she was on her back with her legs wrapped around my waist and me pounding away when the door opened.

It was my father. I don't call him Dad. I call him Brick like everybody does.

"Hi, Chip. This is Cindy Lou," he said. "That's my son, Chip, and his friend, Marlene."

"Hi, Chip," Cindy Lou said in a sexy little voice.

"Oh, shit. I'm cumming," I replied.

Her small hand was lost in Brick's big paw as he dragged her up the stairs. She looked back over her shoulder when Marlene screamed and beat her hands on the wood floor.

I'd call Cindy Lou nondescript except for four things. Two huge green eyes like pools of inviting tropical water and two tits like watermelons hanging on a board fence.

A few hours later, Marlene was in my bed snoring away. I was on the couch in the living room having a beer when I heard the top stair creak and the patter of feet.

"Hello, Chip. Where's Marlene?"

"Resting. Want a beer?"

"No thanks."

She curled up on the other end of the couch and pulled the tee shirt around her. Any man who says tee shirts don't talk has never seen a woman in one. The way she tucks the damn thing around her talks, sings songs, and dances.

Cindy Lou was wearing one of Dad's 2XXL tee shirts with Malone's Garage across the back. That big old shirt should've been floppy all the way to her ankles. But when Cindy Lou settled back that tee shirt was tight across her breasts and the curves of her legs.

I knew what that message was, and when she batted her eyes, I slipped over beside her.

"No, Chip," she murmured as she pushed me away.

"I thought you were saying yes."

"I didn't mean to if I was. I'm a faithful woman, Chip, and right now I belong to your daddy."

I didn't tell her that he didn't give a damn. I let it go, which was lucky in the end because in about ten minutes Marlene came downstairs stark naked and horny as hell. She looked at Cindy Lou with those eyes and Cindy Lou squirmed like a bug on a hot rock. Hell, I wondered if they were going to bed without me. That was another nice thing about Marlene. She shared her girl friends, well, all except Aunt Irene and I was starting to itch for her.

Uncle Fred was Homer's fishing buddy. He called Aunt Irene Saturday morning and she called Marlene right away to warn her Homer's boat had sunk and he was on his way home. Marlene skedaddled. That was all right. Marlene wasn't the only fish in the sea that liked to get caught on my pole.

Cindy Lou spent the weekend. When she wasn't fucking Brick, she patted around the house cleaning or humming in the kitchen as she cooked. Having her wander around the house almost naked gave me a perpetual hard on, but I enjoyed talking to Cindy Lou. She wasn't pretentious like most of the women I meet.

Saturday night, I called Joe Bob to see what was going on. He said come on over because his wife, Thelma, was in heat. I spent the night with them. Joe Bob and I wore out our peckers trying to cool her down.

Brick asked to speak to me Sunday night after dinner. Cindy Lou had cooked a mighty fine pot roast and was cleaning up the kitchen. We were in the living room having an after dinner beer.

"Chip," he said. "I want Cindy Lou to move in with us. I need a woman."

"Fine by me, Brick," I replied. "I like her. I like her cooking, too."

"It's more than just her. She's got two daughters."

"Cindy Lou has daughters? Hell, how old is she?" I said, because I never imagined her having kids. The thought of two snot nosed rugrats around all the time gave me goose bumps.

"She's thirty-five. Barbara Ann's sixteen and Rhonda's fifteen," Brick said.

You might expect the vision of two nubile young honeys twitching all over my house would appeal to me, but there was only one bathroom upstairs and I liked having it to myself.

"Hell, Brick. It's your house. Do what you want."

"But it'll be yours someday and I want to consider your feelings."

Cindy Lou was standing in the doorway watching us. Her big green eyes were soft and pleading.

"Let's move 'em in tonight," I said.

It didn't take long because they didn't have much. Even so, I crashed into bed when we finished and went fast asleep.

I'm an early riser. I like to be the first one at the garage each morning. I'm a Malone, too, and it's my name over the door as well as Brick's. But in the morning, the door to the bathroom was locked.

I knocked and asked, "Who's in there?"

"B.A." came the snotty sounding voice.

"B.A., I need to piss."

"Fuck off, asshole," was her reply.

Fortunately, the big oak tree in the back yard needed watering, but I clocked the bathroom usage. Forty minutes later, B.A. came prancing out of the bathroom with more war paint than Sitting Bull and enough perfume to gag a pig.

I knew then B.A. was going to be a problem.

Cindy Lou had named her daughters after Beach Boys' songs, which gave the girls their own anthems if nothing else.

Rhonda was sweet, cute, with a button nose. She also was smart and wore glasses, which meant she was probably miserable in school because fifteen-year-old kids give four eyes hell. I knew right away she'd be a pleasure to have around.

B.A., as Barbara Ann insisted we call her, was another story. She was sixteen and had a set of knockers to match her mother's. Now think back. Is there anything more arrogant than a sixteen-year-old girl with bumpers like that? I mean, besides a sixteen-year-old boy with a new pickup and no pimples.

By Friday night, I was sick of the little bitch and ready to haul ass out of there, but Cindy Lou stepped in.

"How old are you, Chip?" she asked sweetly.

"I'll be twenty-one in August," I said.

"I know you've had a lot of success with the ladies, but I'm a grown woman. I'd like to give you some advice, if you don't mind."

"Hell, Cindy Lou. What'ya got to say?"

"What Barbara Ann needs is for a man to be firm with her."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she wants you to take her in hand."

"Which means?"

"You know," she said with a look of exasperation.

Okay. I'll admit I'm a little dense sometimes. Cindy Lou sighed, which made her boobs rise like two air mattresses being filled under high pressure.

"I mean, Chip, if I were a man. If I were you, that is. Well, I'd take Barbara Ann over my lap and spank her bottom 'til she couldn't sit down."

"Oh?"

"Yes. That's what I'd expect your father to do to me if I needed it."

"Oh? You would?"

"Yes, I would. Some women don't like a big strong man, but I do. Barbara Ann does, too."

My cock was a drive shaft. The thought of either of them over my lap made me want to attach it to a warm and wet transmission and let the clutch out. I wondered if Homer'd bought a new boat yet.

Cindy Lou leaned toward me and the tee shirt gaped. I tried to look at her face, but those eye magnets held me. She acted like she didn't notice and said conspiratorially, "And, Chip, spankings sometimes lead to something else. That's fine by me. Barbara Ann's no virgin and she's on the pill."

B.A. was in the bathroom primping. She'd said she was going out with friends, which I'd guessed meant she was fucking whoever took her interest at the moment rather than having a steady. I marched up the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Go away, asshole," she said patronizingly.

I'd been promising Brick I'd replace that door anyway since I cracked it one night when I was too drunk to turn the lock. I drove my shoulder into it. The sound of cracking wood gave way to B.A.'s scream of terror as the door caved and I walked in.

She was standing at the sink applying eye something or other. Still wet from the shower and with her hair stuck to her head, she was wrapped in a towel.

"Mother!" she screamed. "Leave me alone, you bastard! Mother, he's attacking me!"

I grabbed a handful of wet hair and dragged her across the hall to my room. Somehow, the towel fell off. A wet B.A. would make a dead man hard, believe me. I'd spent so much time looking at her knockers I hadn't noticed what a nice ass she had. I was gonna spend some real quality time with that ass as it turned red over my lap.

"No. No! Mother!"

She was kicking and scratching, squealing and screaming, but she was going nowhere. Somebody shut the door to my bedroom. I wondered if it was Cindy Lou or Rhonda.

I plopped down in my straight chair, yanking her over my lap as I did. I didn't need anything to bind her hands except mine. At six four and two forty compared to her five two and one fifteen, I had a decided physical advantage.

"No, please, Chip. I'll be good. I will. Really," she begged.

Remember what a spanking feels like? Remember what it feels like when your skin's wet? B.A.'ll remember it for a long time. That was a long, hard spanking leaving her red from the curve at the top of her ass to the middle of her thigh. The loud swats were accompanied by begging, screaming, and sobbing.

When I let her go, B.A. ran to the bed and curled up on the pillow with her legs under her. I'm dense sometimes, but not all the time.

When I pulled off my tee shirt, she slid down the bed to lie on her back with her legs together. When I dropped my trousers, her legs opened some and so did her eyes as she stared at me. When I yanked down my boxers, her hands went by her head and she put her feet flat on the mattress.

"I'll spank you every time I think you need it," I said firmly.

"Yes, Chip," she said in a voice dripping with sex.

"Can you be a good girl?"

"Oh, Chip. I can be the best."

When my knee touched the bed, her knees came up and out.

We missed dinner, at least the one Cindy Lou prepared. We did snack, if you know what I mean. I wore my boxers and B.A. wore my tee shirt as she padded behind me down the stairs.

"Bring me a beer and then get me something to eat," I said.

"Yes, Chip," she replied in a well-satisfied tone.

Rhonda, who was sitting in the corner reading, snorted.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked.

"If you're going to do that often, you need to get her a gag," she replied disgustedly.

B.A. was a screamer, no doubt about that. If I didn't get her a gag, I'd have to get ear plugs.

When B.A. swayed in to hand me a cold beer, I pulled her on my lap and my hand disappeared under that tee shirt to find a nice thatch of hair. She squealed and pushed my hand away. I kissed her, swatted her bottom, and sent her back to the kitchen.

Rhonda sobbed. When I looked at her, our eyes locked before she turned red and ran to her room. Now, I knew what her look meant, but she was just a kid. Hell, even I draw a line somewhere.

Saturday morning, Cindy Lou laid down the rules to her girls and the rules applied to her, too. If one of them misbehaved, either man could spank her. Brick and I secretly agreed to spank only our own, but we didn't tell them that.

Further, standard dress indoors was a tee shirt. Nothing else except during those times of the month when panties were a necessity. Just a tee shirt. And we know what a woman can do with that.

They went to change. In moments, three barefooted tee shirted women were standing at attention. Cindy Lou and Barbara Ann both wore Malone's Garage standard issues, which were white and of good cloth. If you looked hard, you could see a dark patch down low. If you were blind, you could see their boobs. Rhonda's tee shirt looked like it was cut out of a boat tarp, sorta yellowish and thick. But Rhonda looked good in it. Real good. For a kid.

B.A. and I worked out the bathroom problem because we started showering together. We also slept together, fucked together, and did everything else together for about two months. That's when I found someone else's pecker tracks on her leg.

B.A. was nervous as a whore in church when I led her into my bedroom to talk about her playing around, but I didn't spank her. We reached an agreement. She'd fuck me whenever I asked, but it wouldn't be exclusive. That was fine by me. There was a big fishing tournament coming up and Marlene was randy as hell. It wasn't a bad deal. With B.A., Marlene, and Marlene's friends, I hardly ever went to The Tumbleweed.

Cindy Lou was obviously happy with Brick and him with her.

Rhonda was Rhonda, which means she was normally happy, but sometimes seemed dejected. She never complained. She turned her energies into school. She was one smart little cookie and worked like a dog.

It was only four months later that the tragedy occurred and everything changed.

Brick was killed. I'd miss the hell out of him, but I felt selfish when I was sad he was gone. His hobby was rebuilding and racing old sports cars. He lost control of a sky blue Jensen-Healy Interceptor on a tight curve at about one hundred twenty-eight miles an hour. He died doing what he loved best.

He left me the house, the business, and a pile of life insurance. Money wasn't a problem, but my brain was. It was overloaded. I worked my ass off to handle the funeral and make a transition at the garage. The mechanics weren't the problem. It was the customers. Brick knew how to shmooze them, but I was still learning.

For the first time in my life, I ignored the ladies. The three at home tiptoed around me, which was probably just as well. I was under a lot of pressure and my fuse was short.

Brick had been buried two weeks when I came home late from the garage. Mrs. Simpson, a battle axe who ran a fleet of taxis, had been all over my ass that day and I was beat. The three of them were in the living room dressed in the usual tee shirts. A Beach Boy CD played in the background.

"We need to talk, Chip," Cindy Lou said.

When Rhonda handed me a cold one, I noticed she wore a different kind of tee shirt. This one was shorter and looked like it was made out of bandage gauze. When she sat in her chair, that tee shirt somehow was high enough that I was staring at the sweetest little down covered pussy I ever saw.