"Did you see what that little tramp was wearing?" fumed Marybeth as she dropped into a chair on my patio and grabbed a beer.
I figured the subject of the visit would be Marybeth's daughter. Abby was a late bloomer but had recently ripened from a gawky teenager into a well-built hottie with firm tits and a sweet ass. Since graduating from high school she'd given up t-shirts and jeans for skin-tight mini-dresses, tube tops, short-shorts, and thongs. Her attitude had heated up, too, and it was driving Marybeth a bit crazy.
"Honestly, I don't understand where she got her taste for those kind of clothes."
I was smart enough not to suggest that Marybeth might not have been the best role model. She was proud that even after two kids her body was still tight enough to bounce a quarter off. After her husband left her, she rarely missed a chance to let her MILF flag fly in a wardrobe as sexy as her daughter's.
"And yesterday I caught Milley hacking up her NEW jeans so they would be short like Abby's!"
Marybeth slammed her beer onto the arm of chair hard enough to make it foam out the neck. "Doesn't she realize what guys think when she dresses like that?".
I tried to look concerned and nodded silently. Marybeth didn't know that when I was working my yard that spring Abby had been regularly flashing her blossoming tits and bare beaver, and could tell from the swelling in my shorts exactly what a typical guy would think of her body.
Marybeth declared, "I'm ready to do something drastic so she understands how men think. But I need your help."
She briefly explained what she intended to do that evening when Abby returned from shopping with friends. I was shocked but excited by Marybeth's plan to teach Abby a lesson in sexual relations. Marybeth definitely noticed. As she stood up to leave she leaned over and patted the ridge evident in my shorts.
"I knew you'd be up to the job," she grinned wickedly, "Just hold that until later and I'll put it to good use."
I headed over to Marybeth's house after a quick phone call from her later that evening.
"Get down here NOW," Marybeth thundered as I stepped into living room. "You are NOT going out again."
A breathless Abby flew down the stairs, stiletto heels in hand. The hem of her fire-engine red mini-dress flew up as she spun around, revealing a tiny matching thong disappearing between her tanned ass cheeks.
"I'm not a little girl any more!" she screamed back at her mother before noticing that I was standing just inside the door.
The bravado dropped out of her voice, "What's he doing here?"
Marybeth announced, 'He's here to teach you that when you dress like a slut, you get treated like one."
Abby stood stock still, the confused look on her face changing to one of terror. "What do you mean?" she half-sobbed and started to back away from her mother.
"It's time you learned how men treat little whores like you."
Marybeth grabbed Abby's arm, jerking her off-balance and sending her shoes flying, and swung her towards me.
As I caught Abby, she instinctively wrapped her arms around my neck. Instead giving the protection she craved, I started to drag her towards the living room.
She struggled, sobbing hysterically now, "No, No, No, please stop."
I held her easily with one arm around her waist even though she struggled and slapped at my chest and shoulders. My other hand roamed over her body, squeezing her tits and ass, then grabbed her hair and forced her face to mine. I pressed my lips against hers hard and thrust my tongue into her mouth.
