Ending the Argument

"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!"