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Subject: {ASSM} {EZ} Chip Malone (MF+ Rom Humor)
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2000 23:10:05 -0400
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The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations where it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written
permission of the copyright holder, except may be posted as part
of a review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive
sites.
Copyright July 2000 by E. Z. Riter.
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
Please! Give me your comments!
All the works of E.Z. Riter can be found either at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/E.Z.Riter or
www.storiesonline.net
Dear Reader, A light little something for you. As always,
thanks to Ruthie, Editor par excellence. E.Z.
CHIP MALONE
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.
"About what?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from Rhonda.
"The girls and I want to help. I use to be in retail, you know.
I could work the front desk."
"And I've had bookkeeping and computer courses in school. I
could work, too," Rhonda chimed in eagerly.
B.A. smiled and wiggled her tits.
"That'd be damned nice of you," I said. "Things aren't goin' as
smooth as when Brick was here."
"Consider it done. I'll start in the morning and Rhonda'll come
right after school," Cindy Lou said.
The three of them looked at each other nervously and I wondered
what the hell was going on.
"We need to talk about us, too. Here. In your house," Cindy Lou
continued.
"Like what?"
"We're guests here."
"You are?"
"Yes. Brick invited us to move in, but he's gone now."
"I know that."
"What do you want us to do, Chip?"
"About what?"
"About things here. With you and us."
"Cindy Lou, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Can we stay?" she sobbed.
"Shit, yes," I said emphatically. "I don't want you guys going
anywhere."
Rhonda exploded off her chair and threw her arms around my neck.
In a flash, Cindy Lou and Barbara Ann were hugging me, too. My
hands couldn't decide what to touch, so they explored. Man's
always been an explorer, you know.
Someone else's hands were exploring, too, because I felt fingers
wrap around my hard cock and gently squeeze.
The women were giggling and crying. Tears of joy, they said
later. The hand on my cock was stroking me lovingly. It had
been three weeks and I felt a twitch. I grabbed the wrist above
that hand so it wouldn't make me cum. When the crowd broke, I
was holding on to Rhonda.
Her face turned the same red color Brick'd painted his `54
Thunderbird and her eyes begged me, but for what I wasn't sure.
"Please," she mouthed.
I thought she meant please let go, so I did.
Cindy Lou got more beers for everyone but Rhonda. She had a
soda.
"There's one more thing, Chip," Cindy Lou said.
Her tee shirt was talking again. White paint wouldn't've been as
close to her skin. B.A. was sitting cross-legged and exposed.
Rhonda was kneeling primly, like a little girl. Her shirt
covered everything but her face. She'd quickly look at me before
ducking her head again.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I'm in the master bedroom. That's your bedroom now. You're the
master."
"I never thought about it."
"I think you should move into the master," she said. "If you
like, the girls and I will move your things on Saturday."
"Hell, Cindy Lou, if you think so." I liked the idea because it
meant I wouldn't have to share a bathroom with B.A.
Cindy Lou blushed, which is something I'd never seen her do.
"Should I move my things out or leave them in the master?" she
asked softly.
"What would you like to do?" I asked with a squeak. I cleared my
throat and swigged the beer to cover that up.
"I'm a woman who needs a man," she said. "I don't have one now."
"Why don't you leave your things there?" I answered, proud my
voice sounded manly.
Cindy Lou smiled happily. B.A. grinned. I'll bet you a week's
pay she was thinking of all the other cocks she could take since
I'd be busy with her mother. Rhonda was deathly still.
"That okay with you, Rhonda?" I asked.
"Sure. Whatever you guys want," she replied, but when she looked
up, a tear slipped down her cheek.
Saturday morning, I worked at the garage. When I got home, my
things were in the master bedroom. B.A. had a date that night
and Rhonda said she had to study. I had a beer or three before
bed. Cindy Lou followed me into the bedroom.
It was like we were an old married couple that had done this for
years. We both undressed and crawled into bed. She curled
against me. In moments, we were fucking.
Women are different, you know. Marlene was thin and hyper with a
compulsive sex drive like she'd die if a cock wasn't in her
somewhere. B.A. was fun, but an airhead who treated sex like a
woman shopping. You know, "I'll take one of those and, oh, can I
sample that."
Cindy Lou was an earth mother. Soft, passive in a way, accepting
of anything. She was good in bed. Don't get me wrong about
that. She did enjoy fucking and being fucked. But as good as
she was, I got the feeling she'd be the same with whatever man
she belonged to at the moment, as she liked to say.
Even with Cindy Lou having permanent residence next to me, I
still did B.A. sometimes. A while later, she asked me to leave
her alone because she'd fallen for some jock in high school. So
I did. I'd never force myself on a woman.
Rhonda was Rhonda. Smart, hard working, cute. Happy as Santa
Claus most of the time, sad others.
The garage had more work then we could handle. Cindy Lou
shmoozed the male customers. Hell, after she waved those tits in
their faces, we could've given them their car without an engine
and they'd never say a word.
I dealt with the female customers, which was generally pleasant
and that included Mrs. Simpson after I realized she wanted me to
check her oil level with my dipstick.
Rhonda was a wizard with computers. She upgraded the whole thing
without a hitch. Even Tammy, the office girl Brick hired because
she'd suck his cock during lunch, managed to understand the new
system.
Things at home were unbelievable. Three women to do the
housework. Cindy Lou in my bed. But things change. They always
change.
One night, B.A. and her boyfriend, Cletus, announced they wanted
to get married. When Cindy Lou suggested they wait until they
graduated, B.A. admitted the decision couldn't wait long because
her belly was going to grow. I gave the bride away in a nice
little ceremony in church. Cletus' parents gave them the
apartment over their garage free of rent and I chipped in a
serviceable old Corolla. The newlyweds were off to a good start.
Cindy Lou, Rhonda and I established a routine in the house and
the garage that was as smooth as an accelerating Jaguar. I added
onto the garage and hired four additional mechanics. Cindy Lou
was ever present in my bed and uncomplaining if I spent some time
with Marlene or one of the others.
Rhonda was Rhonda. At home, she followed the tee shirt rule,
but, on a few occasions, the tee shirts were thinner and
shorter. Some of the time she'd prance around in a see through
that rode up to her waist when she raised her arms.
I noticed. Hell, I'm not blind, but Rhonda was a kid, you know.
I'll admit she didn't look like a kid. Her legs were long and
lean. Her ass was high and firm. So were her breasts. I'll bet
they were half a dozen cup sizes smaller than Cindy Lou's but
that'd make them about a C. She'd gotten contacts and the
glasses were gone. Rhonda always did have a pretty face.
Okay, since we're being honest, sometimes when I was fucking
Cindy Lou or one of the others, I thought about Rhonda. But,
like I said, sometimes I'm dense. Really dense. Like a mule.
Maybe I got it from Grandpa. Grandma said she had to hit him in
the head with a 2X4 to get his attention.
Then the biggest change came. The change in Rhonda. She was
seventeen and I was twenty- three.
I was in my easy chair. Cindy Lou was curled up on the couch
sewing. Rhonda was sitting on the floor with her back to me.
Her legs were splayed and a textbook was between them. She
pretended to study, but her right leg was twitching, making a
rhythmic thumping sound on the floor.
"I've been on the pill for six months now, Momma," Rhonda said.
"Do you think it's safe for me to have sex?"
My ears perked up.
"I think so, honey," Cindy Lou replied nonchalantly. She never
missed a stitch.
"What kind of boy do you think I oughta pick for my first?"
"That's up to you."
"Who was your first, Momma?"
"Oh, that's been a long time ago," Cindy Lou replied, diffusing
the question. She took a few more stitches. "Do you have
anybody special in mind?"
Rhonda turned on her ass to face Cindy Lou, which twisted her tee
shirt tightly around her. I could see every bump on her areola
and her hard nipples. Her long legs were spread wide on the
floor. She'd wrapped the hem of that tee shirt in both hands and
held it between her legs covering up that part. That was all
right. Rhonda has a lot of good parts to see.
"I do, but he's so dumb he doesn't know I'm alive," she said.
"There's things a girl can do to get a man's attention. Maybe a
new dress?"
"I bought one today," Rhonda replied excitedly. "Want to see
it?"
"Sure, honey."
As Rhonda ran for the stairs, I watched her ass. She did have a
nice ass.
"Could I have a beer, Cindy Lou?" I said.
"Get it yourself," she said.
There wasn't any rancor in her voice, but I was surprised. She'd
never said no about anything before. However, I have my pride
and no man gets his own beer if there's a woman around. So I
turned on the TV.
I didn't hear Rhonda come downstairs, but when she turned off the
TV, I looked at her.
I'd never seen her in a party dress. Maybe I'd never seen her at
all.
The dress was really a top that dangled to below her breasts and
a skirt starting over her hips and ending just below the promised
land. She wore matching red pumps with high heels and stockings
that came within an inch of the dress. Her hair was soft around
her face and that face was alive with anticipation.
"How do you like it, Momma?"
"You're beautiful, dear," Cindy Lou answered.
Rhonda pranced over to me, so close I could touch her. She
turned on the balls of her feet, but her eyes never left mine.
"What do you think, Chip?" she asked.
I've wondered which of my pointed heads does the best thinking.
This time it was the lower one, which was rock hard and trying to
burrow out of my pants to get to her. But the upper one controls
my mouth.
"Hell, you're not a kid anymore, Rhonda. Say, while you're up,
get me a beer."
She screeched, a sound real high, like a baby barn owl, turned,
and marched into the kitchen. In a moment, she returned. When I
reached for it, she poured the beer in my lap.
"Oops. I spilled it," she said with a pseudosexy twitter.
"You did that on purpose," I said.
"Oh, you're so smart. Did you figure that out by yourself?"
"I oughta spank you."
She raised her skirt to her waist and flopped down over my lap.
My body parts fought for dominance. My cock, cooled to softness
by the beer, started to rise again. My palm itched to meet her
ass, whether the meeting was fast or soft and slow. My eyes took
in the wonder of that ass and those legs and the narrow waist
above the ass, admiring all they saw. Then my damn mouth took
control.
"Rhonda, what's gotten into you?"
She screeched again and jumped to her feet.
"Nothing! Nothing has gotten into me, you big jerk."
She slapped me with all the force she had, which meant it stung
some but I wasn't hurt. Hell, I hit myself that hard trying to
kill mosquitoes.
"I hate you! Hate you! Hate you!" she screamed.
She ran from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. I heard
her door slam.
"Cindy Lou, what's going on?" I asked plaintively.
"Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Chip."
"What the hell does that mean?"
She put down her sewing to stare at me a long time before she
spoke.
"It means she loves you. She's always loved you." She sighed.
"I don't love you, Chip, but I'll fuck you. So will B.A. or
Marlene or Thelma or the others. We'll fuck you because you've
got a nice smile and you're big and strong with a nice cock. A
lot of women'll fuck you. You're lucky to find one to love you."
"What should I do?"
"You're going to have to figure that out yourself," she said.
She went back to her sewing.
I was confused as I trudged to the stairs, but by the time I
reached her door, I `d figured it all out and knew exactly what I
wanted to do. Like I said, I'm dense sometimes, but not all the
time.
"Open the door, Rhonda."
"Go away."
I turned the knob. It wasn't locked. She was sitting in her
computer chair crying.
"Don't touch me," she snapped and yanked her arm away, but I
pulled her out of the chair and wrapped my arms around her.
"I must've been blind," I said.
"And dumb. You're a big dumb jerk. Let me go."
"No. You see, I'm a lot smarter now. I'll never let you go."
She kicked me in the shins, which did hurt, I'll admit. I didn't
let go, but she didn't give up. Another kick and a shove left
her standing free.
"I don't want you."
There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was loud and clear.
Her fists were clenched into little balls.
"Why would I want a big, dumb jerk to father my children? Why
would I want a man who screws any woman he wants? Why would I
want a man who thinks `get me a beer' is romantic conversation?"
"I don't know. Why do you?"
She launched herself at me. Her arms went around my neck as she
kissed me passionately.
There it was. What I'd been missing with Cindy Lou and the
others. Unbridled passion. Wild, desperate, hot,
uncontrollable. For me, not just for a cock up their pussy. We
fell on the bed and grappled. She was burning up. So was I.
We were both naked and I was between her legs ready to consummate
our newly admitted love when something unusual happened. My
brain and my cock had the same idea.
"What's happening?' she cried as my cock softened.
"We're not going to have sex."
"Oh, you bastard! I've waited two years."
"You'll have to wait a little longer. Until our wedding night."
She froze, not even breathing until her lips started to turn
blue. She rasped as she sucked in a bushel of air.
"What did you say?" she squeaked.
"I said, will you marry me?"
She screamed and began to cry. Cindy Lou came to the door to
find the cause of her anguish. We all cried then, even me.
When the crying was over, Cindy Lou left us there. Rhonda
slipped on a tee shirt and held my hand as we walked down the
stairs. I sat in my easy chair and pulled her into my lap.
Cindy Lou was in the kitchen fixing dinner.
"Who said I wasn't smart enough to know a good thing when I see
it? Who?"
"It wasn't me," she said.
"Who said I wasn't romantic? Huh? Want to hear me say something
romantic?" I asked.
"I'd love it," she sighed softly.
I pushed her to her feet, swatted her on the ass and said,
"Rhonda, get me a beer."
The End
Please! Give me your comments!
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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