When the door slammed upstairs, Bob reached for the remote and turned up the volume a little. He'd heard it enough times to know that the shouting was only going to escalate from here; it always infuriated Joanne when Tiffany, her daughter, slammed the door on her. Of course, Tiffany knew that too, so she'd always slam it when Joanne was beginning to get angry, and send her over the edge. He swore they must love fighting, they did it so much. They'd been at it for over an hour already. He knew he was in for a long one.
At age forty he was tired of the fighting, all he wanted after a hard week's work was to come home and relax a little, was that so much to ask? Not for the first time he wondered if it had been a mistake to marry Joanne. It had been great when they were dating, and he'd fallen in love, and at first the marriage had been wonderful. Sure, ups and downs, but that was expected, and they worked through it. Even now, when she wasn't fighting with Tiffany she really was a wonderful person, and a great, loving wife. Sure the sex had dropped off considerably; truth be told it was pretty infrequent these days, Still, he admonished himself for thinking it was a mistake. He liked being married, liked coming home to a family after coming home to an empty house all those years.
He'd married late; met Joanne when he was thirty-four and she was thirty, and Tiffany was only fourteen. They married a year later, and moved into his house, big enough for a family, but it had been only him for so long. He'd bought it when he was only twenty-four, working his way into his own contracting business. His business was good, the house was paid off. And though he'd had several girlfriends in his twenties, and more than several relationships, he'd been too busy working to apply himself, and so had remained alone. With his business established in his thirties, and all his friends married and starting families, he started looking, and dated a few times before meeting Joanne.
She's been divorced from her second husband for two years when they met, but it was her independent spirit and toughness that drew him to her. She'd gotten pregnant at seventeen, married Tiffany's dad, but that had fallen apart within a year, and he split. She raised her alone for a few years, met another guy and married him, but that lasted only five years until he left for another woman.
Maybe his mistake had not been getting married, he thought, absentmindedly watching the television, but marrying a woman who had two failed marriages already. Again he scolded himself; how could he think the woman he loved was a mistake? Ashamed of his thought, he told himself that the divorces weren't a problem, that there was nothing wrong with their marriage. It was just a rough patch.
Sure, the voice in his head told him. A rough patch that started four years ago and has only gotten worse. And shows no signs of getting better. And you know it. He sighed. The arguments had begun when Tiffany was sixteen. He'd never known her as a little girl, had met her as a teen, and watched her grow into a beautiful young woman. He tried to treat her with respect, but not as a pushover, and she seemed to respond well. They had a good relationship for a girl who grew up without a dad and a guy who had been alone for a long time. They seemed to understand each other, and they made the best of the situation, trying not to step on each other, but not avoiding either. He loved his stepdaughter, and she had, he thought, grown into a fine young woman.
Joanne didn't share his rosy view. She'd begun criticizing Tiffany early in their marriage, for her hair style, her music, her clothes, her friends. Only a little at first, but not gently, and in front of Bob, which made him uncomfortable, and frankly, he disagreed with her critiques. He thought she dressed and acted the way girls her age dressed and acted, that's all. To his mind, it wasn't what Tiff was doing; it was Jo's opinion of it that created the disagreements. And the disagreements began to become more frequent.
Tiff had pushed back, as you would expect a teenager to do. By the time she was seventeen she was resisting, yelling back, and trading insults with her mother. At the time Bob had admired how much they looked alike, both petite, full lips, small nose, big round blue eyes. But when they argued they even acted the same; defensive, lashing out in anger, saying things you could never take back, flailing hands, storming around the house and screaming. The first few major blowouts had really caught him off guard. Arguing was one thing, but full-force gale warning uncontrolled explosions were scary. But then they became more frequent, and sadly, he got used to it. It was their relationship: Joanne hated everything her daughter thought, said, and did, and Tiffany resented her mother's criticism and attempts to control her.
And so they fought. Repeatedly. Endlessly. Some fights were short but white-hot, nearly coming to blows, and he'd had to step in. Others would simmer for days and then boil over suddenly, maintaining a heated exchange sometimes for twenty-four hours.
Over time Bob learned a couple of things. First he learned that Joanne would always try to get him to agree with her, to endorse her opinion, even though he rarely did. He would try to agree with her motivations, at least as she stated them, but he didn't agree with her opinions and confrontational attacks. Second, he learned that afterwards, Tiffany would seek him out, and solicit his understanding and opinion. She knew she was rebellious, and she expressed her dismay at fighting with her mother, but she couldn't help herself when Jo started in on her, and she'd lose control. And third, he had learned that there were times that he had to step in, and separate them. Sometimes, after the door slamming, things would get completely out of control, names were called, things were thrown, and he had to break them up, diffuse the hostilities and become the peacemaker, however short-lived the peace might be.
Listening to the raised voices upstairs, he suspected that this would be one of those times. Tiffany had it coming this time. He and Joanne had gone out for the night last night, and Jo had warned her not to have people at the house, and of course an argument had ensued. Tiffany had defiantly said she would do what she wanted, she was twenty years old, and Jo couldn't control her. Bob had no idea if Tiff had planned to have people over or if she did it simply because Jo told her not to. But when they got home there were drunken party remnants all over, spilled beer, empty cups, just a general mess, and Tiffany was passed out in her room with two other girls. Bob had sent Jo to bed steaming, and woke Tiffany's friends and drove them home. They were pretty drunk, and pretty hot, and he thought they were kind of flirting with him. When he got home Jo was asleep. He looked in on his stepdaughter before going to bed.
She was wearing a t-shirt and tight little shorts, and she looked peaceful, and pretty, and, like her friends, he thought, pretty hot. Hell, he thought, she was twenty; she was supposed to be hot. He watched her sleep, saw her chest rising and falling, her young breasts stretching the shirt, her nipples hinting beneath the fabric. The shorts were pulled up into her crotch, and he felt a little stirring as his eyes traced the outline of her pussy. Not for the first time he admired her sexiness, then caught himself, and left the room, scolding himself silently for thinking of his stepdaughter that way.
This morning he awakened before Joanne, slipped on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, and headed to the kitchen. Tiffany was there already, pouring a cup of coffee. She was in a towel, fresh from the shower, and her wet hair hung in straggles, giving her a sexy, not so innocent look. She started as he came in.
"Oh, Bob, sorry, I didn't know you were awake," she said, apologizing for the towel. They had strict rules about dressing in the house.
"It's okay," he mumbled, remembering her breasts and crotch last night, wondering what she looked like under the towel, then chasing the thought away.
"Coffee?"
"Please, yes," he answered, and sat at the table. She took a mug from the cabinet, her back to him, and he watched as the towel crept almost to the bottom of her ass, exposing her thighs. He inhaled suddenly and hoped she didn't notice. She had great legs, even though she was only two inches taller than her mother, at 5'2", and though he'd seen them before, in bathing suits and such, seeing them like this, accidentally exposed in her towel, naked and clean from her shower, was stimulating. She brought the coffee to the table, and sat across from him, one hand holding her towel closed at her chest. They sipped silently, and then she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Bob."
"You should be, but thanks for apologizing."
"Really, I am," she explained, "I swear I didn't mean to wreck the place." She looked at him, and he saw something in her eyes. Fear, maybe. Did she think he was angry? "I'll clean it up, as soon as I get dressed."
"You know that's not the issue," he told her. "The issue is you disobeyed your mother, and she's furious." He sipped, and looked at her. She knew there was a fight coming. "I'm not angry," he told her. "But I'm really disappointed. It's not that you had people over, but that you didn't even make an effort to hide it." He put his mug down, and reached for her free hand with both of his, held it as a friend, a counselor. "It's like you are throwing it in her face, and asking for the fight."
"I know, I really fucked up."
"But honey, you do it all the time."
"I know, I know," she said, and he thought she might cry. She was really remorseful. "It's like she dares me, and I just can't stop myself from myself from defying her." This was a conversation they'd had many times in the past. "I don't know why."
"Because you're a lot like her," he told her.
"You know I hate when you say that."
"I say it because it's true," he said, patting her hand, and then releasing it. "Not the defiance, that's all you. But the fighting, the not-backing-down, the standing up for yourself and being strong and independent. That's from your Mom." He paused. "You know, I try not to get between you two and your relationship. I know I'm late to the game, but I've always tried to treat you fairly, as an adult, with respect." She put her head down, nodded. Her hands fell to her lap, and he noticed her cleavage at the knot of her towel. "I know you struggle with her controlling you, trying to control you, anyway. And I know that inside, you hate the fighting, you've told me that in the past. It upsets you, it upsets your Mom." He took a breath as he saw her begin to cry, and he sighed. "But honey, do you stop to think about me? I try to consider your feelings, all the time. Do you know how much your fighting bothers me? Do you understand how upset it makes me, how much tension there is in the house, what today is going to be like?" He saw tears dribbling down her face, and her shoulders shook a little as she sniffled.
"I'm sorry, I swear," she managed.
"I know you are, Tiff," he said, sitting back in his chair, watching the towel loosen from her deep breaths, hoping it wouldn't fall open, and hoping a little that it might. "You're sorry now, like every other time, but not sorry enough to prevent the fight that you know is going to start." He watched her tighten her towel, and wipe her face with the heel of her hand. She sniffled again, holding the towel. "You don't consider my feelings or my needs when you make these decisions." He sipped his coffee. "That's what disappoints me. Not that you did something your mother told you not to do; I get that. But if you cared about me like I care for you, you would have at least cleaned up, hid the evidence, and not thrown it in your Mom's face, and force me to sit through another day-long, knock-down, drag-out brawl."
She looked at him then, and he saw real concern in her face. "That's what I'm sorry about," she confessed quietly. "I- I never meant to hurt you, you treat me so good, you're always concerned for me, for my feelings, and I- I just- just piss on you, and oh, fuck, I'm so sorry!" She began crying again, and he felt her pain, her remorse, as the tears bean again. Her breathing became shaky and her gaze dropped to her lap. He waited for her to finish, and spoke when her free hand wiped her tears, and she looked up. "I'm really sorry, I swear."
"I'm not sure that sorry is going to cover it this time, Tiff," he told her. "There will be a rip-roaring battle today, that I will probably have to get in the middle of, but you're going to need to be punished, too. Grounded, probably."
She nodded her head. "Yeah," she admitted, "I know. I have that coming."
"Listen," he told her, "go get dressed, and start cleaning up this mess, fast. I'll try to keep your Mom in our room as long as I can. Maybe it'll help if the place isn't a shithouse when she comes out." He stood, kissed her on the top of her head, and headed back to the bedroom to check on his sleeping wife. As he exited the kitchen, he heard her say, "Thanks, Dad," softly. She rarely called him that, having had two already, but there were instances, like these, that she related to him as she would a Dad, and not her Mom's husband. He smiled as he made his way back to try and offset the fight.
Of course, it hadn't worked, and the ensuing battle was a whopper, one for the books. Tiffany spent all day cleaning, with her mother haranguing and badgering he every step of the way. Tiffany had been dutifully sorry and silent for most of the day, doing her best to take her medicine and not fight back. But around mid-afternoon with the house cleaned Joanne, apparently frustrated that she wasn't getting a reaction, had begun the personal attacks that always got a rise from her daughter. And then it started in earnest, and had been going on now for several hours. His nerves were on edge, and as much as he didn't want to insert himself, he knew there was no avoiding it. He turned up the television again in an effort to delay the inevitable.
Footsteps above him tracked the fight from room to room, from the kitchen, to Tiffany's room, to the bathroom, where the door slammed. Here it comes, he thought, and sure enough, the pounding on the locked door began, and he heard Joanne begin the name-calling.
"Unlock that goddamn door, Tiffany!" he heard his wife shriek. "You fucking bitch! Get this fucking door open, or I swear I'll break it down!" She pounded again. Bob sighed heavily, and turned off the set. He sat with his hands on his knees, reluctant to get involved, but knowing that this was one of those times. He screwed up his courage and made his way upstairs.
He followed his wife's tirade to the scene in the hallway. "You fucking defiant bitch, you think you can do whatever you want? You really crossed the line this time!" As he turned the corner he saw her there, banging her fists on the door, jiggling the handle, her tiny five-nothing frame tensed for battle. It was going to get ugly. Uglier, he corrected himself. "I tell you no friends, and you have a wild drunken party? You let your friends wreck my fucking house?"
"I cleaned it up, bitch!" he heard Tiff respond. "What do you want from me?"
"God Dammit, open this goddamn door, you no good bitch!"
Bob inserted himself between wife and the bathroom door. He heard Tiff muttering angrily, as she did when she was able get separation from her raving mother.
"Jo-"
"Oh, no, no you don't Bob, she's fucking got it coming this time." She craned her head around Bob's wide shoulders. "You hear me, Tiff? You fucking got it coming this time! You really went too fucking far!"
Bob couldn't understand Tiffany's response through and over his wife's screaming rant as he took her by the shoulders and began steering her away. She wriggled from his grasp.
"Don't you fucking take her side! What's wrong with you?"
"Hey!" he barked, and she quieted. "I am not taking sides," he said, his voice lower, but firm. "I'm trying to help, to help you both, and to help me." He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tremble with pent up rage, and looked down into her face. Her determined expression froze him. "Please, Jo, honey," he said to her, quietly. "Let me try to get her out so we can talk this through."
"Talk!? You want us to fucking talk? Everything I tell her," she snapped, flailing her hands, "she does the opposite! She's out of control, and I want her out of here, out of my life!" Bob heard a shocked sob behind the door. "Yeah, you fucking heard that, didn't you! That's right, I said out, get the fuck out!" Bob managed to turn her body, gently, and began moving her slowly, steering her to their bedroom. "You want it your way, fine, bitch, but not here, not in my house!"
"I'm twenty years old!" Bob heard her sob behind the door. He had Joanne turned away from the door, almost to the bedroom, but she heard it, too. "Why do you treat me like I'm twelve?"
Joanne whirled from his grasp, and turned to shout down the hallway. "Because you're a no-good irresponsible bitch, and I've fucking had it with your bullshit!"
"That's enough, Jo," he said, taking her upper arms firmly, and pulling her into the bedroom, and closing the door behind him. She struggled in his grasp, but her hundred and ten pounds were no match for him. He held her until she stopped trying to escape, and then released her. She rubbed her arm.
"What's the matter, Bob," she sneered, turning her anger on him. "Can't handle the tough love? You want to coddle her, like you always do? Are you gonna take her side, and turn against me?" She turned away, then spun back to snarl in his face. "You know, if you maybe took my side once in a while, maybe back me up a little, maybe it wouldn't come to this!"
"Calm down, Jo."
"Fuck calm down! I'm not calming down until that trouble bitch is out of my life! I spent my whole life trying to raise her, keep her out of trouble, give her a good life, with a good home! I didn't always succeed, but I fucking tried my hardest! And this! This is my reward." She faced the direction of the bathroom and yelled at the wall. "An irresponsible piece of shit who spends every waking moment trying to torment me and ruin my life!" She turned to Bob again, ferocious. "I've had it, Bob, I want her out, I've fucking had it!"
Bob waited until she was done. Then waited to see if was going to start again. She stood there, turned to the side, seething.
"Can I tell you something?"
"What," she spat.
"Honey, I'm not going to minimize the situation, I know it's serious, but she's you're daughter, your only daughter. She loves you, and I know that you love her. If you throw her out, you run the risk of never seeing her again, and I know that's not what you want." He watched her closely, saw her shoulders slump ever so slightly.
"Hmph," she snorted. "Where did love get me, Bob, huh? Can you tell me that?" Her voice began to climb as she continued. "Can you tell me that, Bob? Where did all my love for her get me? To this? This – this no-good delinquent who refuses to do anything I say?" She crossed her arms in front of her. Even angry she was pretty, then stowed the thought. "I'm not giving in Bob, so if you want to help her, get her out of there and help her pack."
This was going to be a tough one. He talked to her more, soothing words, spoken softly, trying to allow time and distance to let the hostility slip away, and it worked to a degree; she stopped screaming at him and the wall. But she remained steadfast, and firm.
"You talk to me like I'm wrong, like she didn't have a fucking wild party in here last night, and we didn't find her drunk and passed out with her friends. Why do you make me out to be the bad guy all the time? It's always the same with you!"
"You're not the bad guy, hon, you know that."
"What, then? Why are you here, talking to me about this, instead of in there," she pointed in the bathroom direction, "dragging her out of there, and getting her the fuck out of my house!!?"
"I want to solve this, that's all, and I need you to calm down and-"
"Don't you 'calm down' me, you- you fucking traitor! You think I don't see what you're doing? What you always do? You make me the bad guy, and you go to her and tell her it's okay, and she does what she pleases, and fucking defies me again. Like I'm the one who's fucked up! Like I my opinion doesn't matter!"
"Jo, you're not the bad guy," he repeated. "But the fighting, the screaming. They way you talk to her. It doesn't help, it doesn't solve the problem."
They went back and forth like that for a while, with long stretches of uncomfortable silence. But eventually she stopped flailing her arms, and she got tired of yelling, and he tried again.
"Let me talk to her, will you give me that chance?"
"All you do is talk, talk, talk," she muttered, and turned to face him. "Go ahead, talk to her. But make sure you talk her out of my house. Don't you go behind my back and turn on me."
"I'm just going to talk to her, to calm her down, so that the three of us can have a reasonable discussion."
"Oh, so I'm unreasonable?"
"That's not what I meant and you know it," he said, and wrapped his arms around her, she didn't respond, her body stiff with anger, but he held her anyway. "I just want us all to talk, like you and I are doing now," he said softly.
He sat her on the loveseat, put her feet up, and slipped quietly from the room.
At the bathroom door he listened closely, heard Tiffany muttering under her breath between sniffles. He tapped lightly. "Tiff?" he waited. Tapped again. "Tiff, it's me, honey, let me in." He waited, heard the door lock turn, and slowly opened it. She was just sitting back down on the floor, and looked up at him.
She wore a tee-shirt and loose cotton shorts, the ones she'd spent all day cleaning in. The tee shirt was loose on her, shapeless; making her look slight and frail, but her shorts had pulled up into her crotch as she sat in the floor. Her face was red, and her beautiful eyes were swollen from crying. Her hair was still half pulled up from when she'd been cleaning, but it was half down, and looked a mess. She looked sorrowful, and crushed and beaten. He got down on his knees and held her, closely, and she cried for a few minutes, her face pressed into his chest. They stayed that way for a while, until her sobs subsided, and she regained control of herself. Bob helped her up and escorted her to the den, to keep them separate.
Tiffany pleaded that she was sorry, that she knew she was wrong, that she hadn't wanted to hurt him, she just couldn't stop rebelling against her mother's tight control over her. She said she felt like her mother was trying to prevent her from ever having a life, having any fun, and that she always criticized her, berated her, and she felt like she didn't love her any more. She cried again then, and Bob held her, soothing her, telling her of course your mother loves you, so did he.
She looked up at him, with crying, pleading eyes and asked, "Then why won't she let me stay? Why does she treat me so bad, why is she always so mean and demanding and unreasonable?" She sniffled. "My clothes are no good, my friends are no good, I don't do enough, I don't' care enough. I don't listen right, I don't behave right, I don't act right. Nothing I do will ever be good enough."
"I'm going to go upstairs," he told her," and see if she'll listen. But if I do that, you have to apologize for what you've done."
"Shit, I apologized all freaking day, don't say you didn't hear me."
"I did, but that was when you too were fighting, and the wounds were all fresh. You have to say it again, sincerely, so she can hear it and believe it."
"She won't, though, she just say, like, yeah right, she always is sorry after, like how I feel doesn't mean anything to her."
"Well, we have to try," he said, and went upstairs.
He had to make several trips, bringing each woman's conditions and reactions to the other, before he felt safe to have them in the same room. They had agreed, reluctantly, to not yell, and to not talk when the other was talking. They agreed that Bob would say whose turn in was to talk. And there would be no name-calling, and if Bob heard any harsh talk, he would stop, and they would all rest.
He led Tiffany into the master bedroom where Joanne was waiting. He put her on the edge of the bed, facing his wife, but she sat with her head down. He said a few words to ease the tension, and then asked Tiffany to start.
"I- I'm really sorry, Mom," she whimpered, "I know I really screwed up, and I know I disobeyed you, and I acted spitefully. I'm embarrassed of my behavior." she continued, and Bob thought she was doing all right. She looked up. "I don't understand why I act like this, I mean, I do, but I don't know why I can't stop myself, when I know it's going to hurt Bob and make you angry."
Bob turned to his wife, signaling it was her turn. "Well, it's nice to know that YOU know why you do these things. Would you mind telling me, since I'm the one you do them to?" She paused, and then added, "And by the way, that was a nice, sincere apology, but my mind is made up, and you still have to go."
Bob winced. Still, they weren't yelling, and that was an improvement.
Tiffany explained the way she felt when Jo constantly berated and badgered and criticized her, and that she didn't understand why nothing she did was okay, why Jo had to try to keep such a tight rein on her.
"Oh, so all this is my fault?" She turned to Bob. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!"
"Jo, easy," he started, but she cut him off.
"Easy my ass! This isn't about me, this is her, and her delinquent juvenile behavior, and her fucking rebellious nature! She's sorry! Big deal, she's been sorry before! Nothing changes! And you don't do anything, you just sit there like a fucking lump, watching me do all the work, and let it split up our family!"
"Don't you say that!" Tiffany suddenly yelled. "He's not breaking us up, it's you!" She stood, shaking a little. "It's always you! You drove away my real dad, and you drove away your second husband, and now you'll break up this family, too!"
They sat in stunned silence for a second, until Joanne spoke. "Oh, great, listen to the wild girl talk about holding a family together. Let me tell you something, honey, there is more to life that walking around half-dressed like an easy slut, and fucking all the boys at your wild drunken orgy!"
"It was a party, you ass, what are you talking about?"
Bob felt the conversation getting a little out of control. He tried to interject, but they ignored him.
"Don't think I don't know what goes on, missy, I've been around the block!"
"Not for a long time, you haven't!"
"Hey! Do you think all those boys you let fuck you are going to hang around, and play family with you?"
"I am not fucking boys!"
"Oh, you just suck their dicks, then? Or are you playing for the other team now? Is that why your friends were in your bed last night? Are you doing everybody?"
"Wh- what are you talking about!?" Tiffany pleaded, but Jo was on a roll.
"You think I don't see the way those boys look at you? You might think I'm stupid, but I'm not! As soon as your breasts started growing, you were dressing like a cheap girl who was putting it out easy. I tried to stop you. But would you listen? No, not you! You put your stuff out there for everyone to see, and they start sniffing around, and soon you're fucking every guy who walks in the door!"
"I can't believe you think-"
Joanne stood up now too, facing her daughter eye to eye, and started ticking off her fingers. "You go out till all hours, curfew be damned, you drink, you probably smoke pot and God knows what else." Her arms were flailing again as her anger gripped her. "You have boys hanging around you waiting for you to spread your legs or open your mouth-"
"Don't talk about me like that!" Bob heard her voice quavering.
"And who knows what goes on at these parties, probably drunken orgies!"
"That's not true!" Tiffany screamed. "And, anyway, who the hell are you to lecture me about sex?"
"I'm your Mother!"
"Yeah, my Mother who spread her legs and got pregnant, and then only uses sex to convince a man to marry you!"
"You bitch, take that back!"
"Oh don't pretend, Mother, we both know your last husband left because you wouldn't fuck him anymore! That's why he cheated, and that's why he's gone, just like my real dad!"
"You ungrateful bitch-"
"You use sex to get the life you want, and then you stop. You think it's a tool to get a man, well it's not! Yeah, I've had sex with boys, and I liked it." It was her turn to flail now, just like her mother. "Not what YOU think I've done! But even the little I have is better than you give Bob! You'll drive him away to another woman, just like your last one!"
"I gave you a good life!"
"No, BOB gives me a good life, and so did your last husband. They treat me like a person, and consider my feelings, and they don't let their ridiculous fears prevent me from HAVING a life, and LIVING my life!"
"You ungrateful-"
"ME!" she shrieked. "Ungrateful! Look at yourself, Mother! This man," she motioned to Bob, "loves you, and all you do is make his life miserable. You fucked him into marriage, and now he gets practically nothing!" Joanne's face went white with horror. "Don't think I don't know, I can hear, you know. You just about stopped fucking him two years ago, and now, maybe you give it up on his birthday and your anniversary, just enough to keep him around!"
"I want you out!"
"Fine with me, you self-serving, frigid ice queen!"
"Better that than you, you nasty slut whore!!"
And then Tiffany slapped her mother. Hard.
Bob, who had been sitting, helpless and embarrassed, and frankly, a little surprised to think Tiffany might be right, was suddenly enraged. Holding out sex or not, he loved Joanne, and he was not going to see her assaulted. He leaped to his feet even as Joanne tried to deliver a return blow, blocking it with his shoulder. He grabbed Tiffany's hand, twisted it behind her back, and threw her face down on the bed.
"Don't you ever hit your mother!" he screamed. Now he, too was yelling and out of control. From the corner of is eye he saw Joanne approaching, arm raised, and he grabbed her around the waist and tossed her back to the loveseat.
"The fucking bitch slapped me!" she barked, rising.
"Shut up and sit down, Jo! I mean it!" She did, suddenly quiet. "You asked for it with your big mouth!" He turned back to Tiffany, who lay on the bed, sobbing quietly. He almost lost his anger, then remembered the slap. He moved towards her, shaking with anger, and leaned over her, holding himself above her, arms on either side of her body.
"How dare you! What the hell were you thinking?" he bellowed into her ear. "She's your mother! It's not bad enough that you wrecked the house with your drunken friends last night?" She was crying, but he didn't care, he was furious. "You think you were going to get punished for last night?" He grabbed her shoulders, shook her, and then turned her over, facing up. She was sobbing, blubbering, "sorry, sorry" over and over, and still he yelled, now staring down into her face. "Too late for sorry, Tiff," he yelled at her, "you need to learn, and learn fast." He grabbed her shoulders again, flipping he small frame easily, laying her face down.
He moved to the edge quickly, grabbed her by the elbows, and dragged her so her ass was at the edge of the bed. Gathering her wrists with one large hand and holding them in the small of her back, his other hand yanked down her shorts to her knees. Expecting panties, he saw her bare ass cheeks with a narrow white fabric strip in her crack. He hesitated only a second, and then brought his hand down hard on her smooth pink flesh. The sound of that first slap was like thunder in the room; no one spoke, and even Tiffany's whimpers stalled for a second. Then she shouted out suddenly, but before she could protest a second slap struck her. With the third, Bob started grunting his effort, hitting harder, and now Tiffany wasn't yelling, she was crying out in pain with each strike, and sobbing in between them.
Bob continued raining blows down onto his stepdaughter's firm ass cheeks, switching between them, watching the flesh jolt with each strike, feeling the impact in his hand as he struck her tender flesh. The pale skin turned pink, then red, and the sounds of the impact were soon drowned out by her harsh screams, but he rained down the blows without respite. He spanked her in anger first, then with determination, and soon with calm retribution. Twenty? Thirty? He had no idea. He stopped when his arm got tired, and when the slapping stopped, the only sounds were Tiffany's plaintive wails and sobs. He released her hands, and she laid there, her ass exposed and red and swollen, her body shaking with her uncontrolled sobs. She made no move to cover herself.
He stood up, took a step back, and watched his twenty-year-old stepdaughter crying into the bedspread, her trembling body making her exposed and traumatized ass flesh jiggle. He moved silently to the side of the bed and leaned over her, feeling the heat from her skin as his face neared the back of her head. In her ear he whispered, "I'm sorry, Tiff, sorry that it came to that. You really left me no choice. I hope you learned something, and that things will be different now."
She turned her head, her face looking up at his, her hair strung messily across her red tear-streaked face. She struggled a shuddering breath, and managed a quiet, sincere, "Thank you, Daddy." He touched a hand to her cheek and she smiled a little and lowered her head, and he kissed the back of her head.
As he stood and turned to face his wife, she rose from her seat. He knew from her face, without hearing hr words, that she completely misunderstood her role in this. She was anxious, excited, and looked ready to celebrate. She practically ran the few steps to him, threw her arms over his shoulders and stood on her toes.
"That was perfect! Oh, my God, you were wonderful, Bob! I swear, it was just what she needed, and you were so good, I am so proud that you finally took my side for once, let me tell you," she blathered, bubbling with what she clearly saw as her victory. She slipped her arms down from his shoulders, not yet noticing that he wasn't returning her ebullient reaction. "She really had that coming, and you gave it to her, you taught her real good! It was terrific!" She slapped his chest playfully. "Thanks for sticking up for me, and for helping me finally get her under control. My God, did you hear the awful things she said about me?"
"Joanne."
"Let me tell you, things are going to change around here from now on, no more of her back-talk and sassy arguments and-"
"JOANNE!"
She froze in mid-sentence; her mouth hung open and her eyes wide, staring in shock at her gentle husband who had just shouted her name. She saw his face now, as if for the first time since the spanking stopped, and she did not see her joyful victory reflected back at her. Bob saw the nervous reaction mix with confusion in her face. He stepped towards her and she stepped back, until the backs of her legs hit the loveseat and she sat, unceremoniously. Bob stood in front of her, looking down menacingly, and felt his anger rising again. How could she so totally disregard her part in this?
"Joanne," he started, trying to keep his voice calm, steady. "I have been listening to you fight with your daughter for too long. I am telling you now; there will be no more fighting in my house."
Her face brightened. "Oh, Bob, you are so right, after the ass-whipping you gave her, she'll think twice before back-talking me again."
It was all he could do not to slap her himself. "Joanne, stand up. Now." He waited as she hesitated. "NOW!" he insisted, and she stood. He put his hands on her hips, turned her so she stood in front of him, with the loveseat at their side. He put his hand to her face, turned her head to see her daughter, still on the bed, ass cheeks inflamed and swollen, just managing to control her sobs.
"Look at your Tiffany, Jo. She just took a serious punishment. Do you know why she was punished?"
"Because she fucking slapped me."
"Watch the language," he said, seriously. "Do you know why she hit you?"
"Because she's an unruly bitch who can't-"
Bob grabbed her hips, turned her to the loveseat, and pushed her towards it, almost throwing her face first into the seat back, bending her at the hips, and slapped her ass, hard. He held her down on her knees with one large hand between her shoulders, her chest pressed into the seat of the chair.
"I said watch the language," he told her, sternly, not angrily. With Tiff he was angry. This was different. "Now, I'll ask again, why do you think she hit you."
"B- b- because she's a, uh, disobedient and out of control."
WHACK! He slapped her ass.
"OW! What are you doing?"
"Shut up. I am teaching you something, a lesson I hope I never have to repeat." He took a breath, continued. "Your answer was wrong, and it shows how much you misinterpret about yourself." He looked at Tiffany, who had turned slightly at the sounds, and was watching him with interest. "She slapped you because she was angry, which is not acceptable. I spanked her out of anger at first, and that was not acceptable." He looked at Tiffany. "I apologized to her. She needed to be punished, and she knew it, but not hit in anger. Do you know why she struck you in anger?"
She hesitated, confused, and tried, "because she's out of control?"
WHACK!
"OW! Bob, stop it!"
"No, wrong answer. You clearly have no idea, and that's part of the problem." Joanne tried to wriggle out of her position, but Bob easily held her down. "She was angry because you called her a terrible name, and insulted her. You MADE her angry, calling her a slut whore. She isn't, she's a good person. She doesn't deserve to be treated the way you treat her."
"She called me a frigid bitch!"
"You deserved that, I think, and if you think about it, I think you'll agree it's true. It's also true that your over-controlling nature and lack of appreciation for sex will probably end up breaking our happy home. You were ready to throw her out of your life, and for what? For control? Because she wouldn't live and dress the way you say?"
"She deliberately disobeyed me!"
"And she was wrong, and she knows she was wrong, and she's sorry, and she took her punishment." He glanced at Tiffany, who had risen up on her side on one elbow, her shorts still down at her knees. One knee bent, just hiding her crotch. She was smiling a little.
"Well, good, let me up, dammit, and we'll see if she's learned her lesson!"
WHACK!
"Wrong answer Jo! You don't understand! You created this mess! You, your fear of sex, your lack of understanding, and your belief that you are in charge of her, and of me!"
"Oh, so you ARE taking her side!"
WHACK! WHACK!
"Wrong again! Like everything else in this, you don't understand. YOU are the problem, YOU created this mess, and YOU are trying to break up our happy home! And for that, YOU need to be punished, until you understand your responsibility and accept the blame for your role!"
He let go of her back, and she raised herself, trying to escape, turning to face him, to escape. Bob grabbed the waist of her pants, held her, and opened them.
"What are you – oh, don't you dare, what do you think-" she started, struggling futilely as he opened her pants and pulled them down her hips to her knees. She tried to stand, and found she couldn't, her legs held together. She tried to pull away, and took her by the shoulders and spun her, easily, back into position face down on her knees, and pressed his hand on her back.
"Oh, my God, what the hell, Bob, don't you dare," she muttered into the cushions as he pulled her panties down to her knees, exposing her bare ass. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Tiffany was watching, and she was, up on one elbow still, an appreciative grin on her tear-streaked face. He leg had moved, and her pussy was exposed. She had pushed her thong down her legs to join her shorts, and he saw her shaved lips swelling out between her thighs, with only a tight strip of hair above her clit. She saw him look, and blushed, but didn't move to cover herself. He turned back to his wife. Her white, slightly flabby ass, larger than her daughter's but similar in shape, stood trembling as she struggled against his grip. He laid his hand on it, took a few breaths to release his anger.
"You have treated your daughter badly, and you have treated me badly, and you have made life difficult and unlivable for all of us," he spoke, forcefully and determined. "You will be punished until you I am convinced you understand."
Her protest was cut off by the first hard blow to her exposed left buttock, and she screamed in the sudden shock and pain. He hit the other one, watching his handprint appear from the impact, feeling the sting in his palm. Again and again he struck, each time getting a squeal of pain and alarm from his wife, until she began to cry. Her pleas went unheeded as he spanked her, sometimes the same cheek, increasing the pain, then switching to the other, turning them pink, then bright red. He stopped after about twenty strokes, and spoke.
"Do you understand what you did wrong?" She just cried, no longer struggling, her sobs shaking her body beneath his hand. "Answer me! I asked you, do you know what you did wrong?"
"I- I- I was- I was a bad mother, I- oh, I don't know what you want me to say!"
He began again, and she screamed again as the blows rained down on her, another series, hurting more as he struck her already inflamed skin. After ten he stopped, resting his arm.
"You have been selfish and treated your daughter badly, say it!"
"I- I- I've been-" she blubbered, "selfish and-" she struggled through her sobs, "I treated Tiffany badly, I'm sorry" she managed.
Felling a small victory, he turned to see Tiffany smiling slyly, and gasped.
She had kicked her shorts the rest of the way off, and one hand was rubbing herself between her spread legs. He turned back, the vision of her playing with her bare pussy burned into his brain. He felt a stiffness begin in his pants, and took a breath, remembered what he was doing.
He realized the hand that had been holding his wife in place had slipped away during the last series, and she had not moved. She knelt over the loveseat, face down on the cushions, and shook with sobs, gasping for breath. He touched her ass and she jerked involuntarily. The skin was burning hot. He didn't want to spank her more, but he was determined not to stop until she knew what she has done.
"Joanne," he said, lightly caressing the tortured ass flesh, feeling the heat. "I want to stop now, but I will continue if you have not learned. Tell me," he said soothingly. The globes of her ass were swollen and hot as he moved his hand, but as he moved his hand lower, he found another heat, a moist, steamy heat, and realized it was coming from between her legs! He stiffened more as he waited for her answer, remembering his stepdaughter, spread on the bed. "Tell me, Jo. Say it, Admit where you have been wrong, and I will let you up."
Her sobs subsided slightly, and she choked and tried to speak, blubbering. "I'm suh- suh- SORRY!" she blurted. "I'm sorry you think I'm a bad mother! I never meant to hurt anyone!" She howled her sorrow and pain before continuing. "I was trying to help her, I swear. If she would just listen to me, just do what I tell her, I swear-"
Bob's hand was still caressing her inflamed ass, wondering about the obvious stimulation her pussy was emanating. But when he heard her insist that she was still right, he pulled back, beginning again, this time speaking to her as he deliberately spanked her jiggling cheeks, placing emphasis on his strikes with his voice.
"It was YOU!"
"Not your DAUGHTER!"
"You are TOO CONTROLLING!"
"You TREAT her with no RESPECT!"
"You HAVE to let her GROW!"
"Have a LIFE!"
Each verbal emphasis brought another hard slap, the impacts covering her ass from just under her back to the tops of her thighs. Between the blows she squealed her resignation. "I'm sorry! I OH! swear, I know I was wrong, but OH! I couldn't help myself. I was only AAGH! trying to help, I'm sorry!"
"What about our FAMILY!?"
"I want us all together, I never wanted her to leave, I love her, please I want her here with me, with us," she pleaded, "she can do what she wants, dress how she wants, please, please stop, please."
"And what about your husband?" Bob heard the question from beside him and turned to see Tiffany on her knees, still in only her tee shirt, beside him. "What about Bob? Are you going to take care of him, or drive him away?" she asked. She looked at Bob, held his wrist, and signaled him to wait for the answer.
They heard only her cries and sobs and uncontrolled weeping. She moaned and tossed her head in misery, and Bob raised his hand to strike, but Tiffany stalled him. "Wait a second," she said. She climbed up onto the Loveseat, sitting next to her mother, and leaned over, her hand lightly pressing on the older woman's lower back, and she leaned over her.
"Mom, this is important, you need to answer," she said slowly and carefully, glancing at Bob as she did. "You are going to get spanked more, if you don't," Joanne keened into the cushions, "easy, now, try to concentrate," Tiffany's hand had moved down, and was lovingly caressing the swollen red flesh of her mother's wounded buttocks, touching lightly, fingertips skimming across raised welts. "If you don't answer correctly, there will be more, I promise. I know what I did wrong. You have to know, too."
Jo sniffled and shuddered, gasping for control of her tears. "I don't know what you mean, what you're talking about. I- I love Bob, oh, please, no more. I'll do whatever you say, please, just, no more, please."
"Mom, that's not going to be good enough. You can't just say you'll do it, you have to want to do it, if you really love him."
Bob watched in amazement as Tiffany's hand slipped to the bottom curve of his wife's reddened cheeks, and then between her legs to touch her mother's pussy. His jaw dropped to see Tiffany's slide two fingers easily inside, Jo's wet pussy opening to accept them. He smelled her arousal. He looked up, saw Tiffany looking at him as she fingered her mother, and she softly said to him, "Don't spank her again, yet. But you might have to, one more time." She turned back to her mother.
"Mom, last chance, tell me what you will do for Bob, to keep him and show him you love him." Bob watched her fingers sliding easily into his wife's slick hole, and wondered what was going on. "Tell us, Mom. Come on."
Jo released a sudden mournful wail, ending with a resigned, miserable confession. "I don't know what to say!" she wept. "I don't know what to do!"
Tiffany stared at her, and then turned to Bob. She pulled her fingers from her mother's pussy, and leaning to Bob, touched his lips, and slipped the slick digits into his mouth. He tasted his wife's excitement, and tried to remember the last time he'd done so. It had been too long. Tiff pulled her fingers out, and brought that hand sharply down on her Joanne's inflamed ass cheek. "Give it to her," she said.
Once again Bob began the methodical spanking, delivering slow, deliberate strikes to his wife's red, swollen flesh. He paced them evenly, so she could anticipate the next blow, and heard her daughter lecturing her.
"Mom, listen to me," she said sternly, fitting the words between Bob's strikes. "You have to take care of him. You love him? Well, he loves you, and you have to work to keep him. You have to make sure he's happy, sexually." Bob noticed that Tiffany had a hand between her own legs now. "Suck his dick, Mom. Blow him; give him a blowjob, all the way. Swallow his cum. Fuck him, a lot. Maybe even let him fuck your ass. You have to do these things, you have to WANT to do these thing. If you don't, you're going to drive him away and lose him."
Bob heard Joanne's mournful wail, but didn't hear her say anything, but Tiffany held her hand up to stop him. "Watch me, Mom." She said, and then she stood, and turned Bob, and pushed him to sit on the loveseat next to his wife.
Before he could react she was opening his pants, and his half-hard shaft was exposed, and he saw Joanne turn to see her daughter open her mouth and envelop his head, swirling her tongue around it, the grasp the base and lick the length of him, coating his shaft. He froze, half panicked and all aroused, as she lowered her head onto him, taking half his cock into her mouth, moaning onto him. She began bobbing her head, stroking him at the same time, and he stopped to think that his stepdaughter was sucking his cock in front of his wife, this was wrong, in so many ways, and it was so hot, so good, and he groaned his satisfaction at the pleasure coursing through him.
She pulled her head off, grabbed her mother's hair, and pulled her face to Bob's crotch, and then it was Joanne's mouth where Tiffany's had been, sucking him, her daughter coaxing her to suck, to use her tongue, holding him by the base. "That's it, Mom, like that; suck his cock like you love it, like you enjoy having it in your mouth. That's how you take care of your man, and keep him right." Bob watched his wife's tear-streaked face bobbing up and down on his cock at her daughter's urging. Joanne's eyes, swollen and red from her crying, were closed. "Good, that's good, it's okay to like it, it's good to give your man pleasure. You do this more, and you'll enjoy having your mouth filled, feeling him bounce off your tonsils, and you'll learn to swallow his cum. But not today." She gently pushed her mother's head off, and pulled Bob by his cock off the loveseat, back behind Jo, who still knelt across the cushions. She pulled him behind her, and aimed his hard cock at Joanne's wet slit, rubbing it up and down.
"You've got to fuck your man, Mom, you gotta fuck him good and fuck him often. Sex isn't bad, and sex isn't a tool," she said, pulling him into Joanne, and sliding him in between her labia. "It's a wonderful experience for both of you and the more you do it, the more you'll like it, and want it, and the better it'll be for Bob." She pulled her hand away and Bob slipped himself fully inside, filling her, feeling the heat he remembered from the early years of their marriage. He groaned as her pussy accepted him.
"You hear that Mom? He likes it, it feels real good, and I know that you like it too, even if you're afraid to admit it." Bob started pumping, and saw that Tiffany was playing with herself again, her gaze switching from her mother's face, face down in the cushions, to Bob's cock sliding wetly in and out of her cunt. "Oh, yeah, you like that, don't you, Mom? I know Bob likes it, I can see it on his face." She looked up at Bob for a second, and grinned. "Do you like exciting Bob? Do you like knowing you're giving him what he needs, what he wants, what makes him feel good?"
Joanne grunted her affirmation, and Bob felt her body reacting, her hips beginning to pulse back against him. He grabbed her hips, careful not to irritate her wounded ass cheeks, and thrust harder, bouncing his thighs on hers, hearing the wet smacking sounds of his impacts.
"Let's get him really excited now, okay Mom? You want to make sure he never goes away?"
"Yes, yes, oh, please, anything."
Tiffany climbed up on the loveseat and squeezed herself up against the back, facing Bob, and swung a leg over Joanne's head, straddling her, and grinned at Bob as she lowered herself between the back of the seat and Joanne's head. Bob watched her exposed shaved pussy disappear behind his wife's head. Holy shit, he thought, it can't be, and he pushed into her harder. He didn't have to imagine long, as Tiffany guided her mother's head to her open, waiting slit.
"That's it, Mom, that's a sexy, nasty woman who knows how to keep her man, keep him interested, lick my pussy, get your tongue inside me, taste my cunt." He heard Joanne moan and grunt, and craned his neck to get a better look. Tiffany saw him and adjusted her position. "Oh, yeah, that's so good, your mouth feels so good on my cunt, yeah. Bob is watching you, he's watching you eat my young pussy while he fucks you, does that excite you? Do you like him to see what a dirty woman he married?"
She was pressing her hands on the back of her mother's head, and Bob could see her, sucking Tiffany's pussy lips, saw her tongue burrowing inside, licking her juices, and stimulating her hard clit. He moaned out loud.
"Oh, Joanne, baby, suck that pussy, baby, be my dirty girl, lick it out while I fuck your hot cunt!"
"Yeah, Mom, that's it, lick my clit and make me cum, I want to cum when Bob fills your lonely cunt with his hot load, yeah, that's it, oh, I'm close Mommy, lick me, make me cum!"
He slammed into his wife as she attacked her daughter's clit, feeling his climax boiling up as Tiffany's moans increased, and as his stepdaughter came in her mother's mouth his balls exploded, sending the first blast of his cream deep inside her, and he bellowed his orgasm, shooting blast after blast into her, his hips jerking hard, driving his cock into her. He finished as Tiffany came down, and rested, his cock nestled deep in the hot stew of Joanne's creamy cunt.
Tiffany climbed off the seat and got on her knees, and turned Bob to the side, pulling his cock from Joanne. She guided her mother to the side, steered her face at Bob's dick, and guided her towards him. Joanne dutifully opened her mouth and began eagerly sucking their combined juices from his softening cock. With her mouth locked firmly on Bob's shaft, Tiffany moved her, twisting her body around so she was on her back on the loveseat, head to the side slurping Bob's juicy dick. As Bob watched, Tiffany spread her mother's legs, looked up at Bob and grinned, and then lowered her face to Joanne's pussy. Bob heard her sucking and slurping, drawing the load of hot cream from her mother's fucked cunt. After a few seconds Tiffany pulled away, climbed up over her mother until her face was above Joanne's, and opened her mouth, allowing the stream of white goo to drip into her mother's cheek. Feeling the sticky semen hitting her face, Joanne pulled off Bob's cock and turned her head, mouth open, catching the remnants into her mouth. Tiffany leaned down, licked the drip from her mother's cheek, and dropped it into her waiting mouth.
Bob had never seen anything so dirty, so wanton, and he stared at his wife and her daughter as they shared his load, and Joanne swallowed it.
"That's it, Mom, didn't his cum taste good from your pussy? You looked so hot and nasty sucking it down. I bet Bob loved that, loved you doing that for him, and knowing that you can be his sexy hot wife." She kissed her mother on the lips. "I'm so proud of you." She looked up at Bob. "Aren't you proud of her, Bob?"
"Proud, and amazed, and so turned on and in love with her," he said, and he leaned down to kiss her, too, tasting himself on her lips, smelling pussy and cum, feeling the heat. He kissed her tear-streaked cheeks. "I love you, Joanne. Please don't ever make me do this to you again."
"I won't, I swear, Bob," she murmured, "I love you, and I don't ever want to lose you." She looked at her daughter. "Or my wonderful daughter," she added, managing a smile.
"I love you, too, Mom," Tiffany said. "And you, too, Dad. Thanks for taking charge. I hated fighting, hated the tension and the hostility." She grinned. "This is better!"
"A lot better!" Bob agreed. "We can be a happy family now."
"Happy and sexy!" Tiff added.
"And nasty and satisfied!" Joanne chimed in.
"But Mom," Tiffany said, and her hands drifted to her mother's wet pussy. "You didn't get to cum!" She looked up at Bob. "Come on, Dad, let's show her what she's missing!"
As Bob moved to help his stepdaughter please his wife to orgasm, he thought, man, I should have done this three years ago!
