Neighborly Ch. 02

The squeal of the schoolbus ushered dread like a trumpet. There I stood before my own home, wanting nothing more than to go precisely there. As I wandered away to the house next door, I noticed my peers from inside the bus, those familiar with my place of residence as I'm dropped off there each day. Some pointed and asked each other "Where is he going?" evident from the movement of their lips.

Ellen gave me her spare key to let myself in. The house was so still and empty, eerily quiet. She left her mark to let me know she was ready for me to get to work: dirty dishes, clothes that didn't even attempt to reach the hamper, trash, etc. I took a selfie Ellen requested by the foyer clock and sent it to her, officially clocking-in as her servant. That same to-do list she marked with a kiss sat folder on her entryway table like a greeting card. And even still, the shape of her red lips excited my boyish libido.

I had no time to lose. I took to the list and studied my daily chores. A mild panic over her looming presence ticking closer drove my mind to plan each task with surprising efficiency. Laundry first-- that takes the longest-- then dishes, skim the pool, tidy the bathroom, make the bed, (gotta make sure to check the laundry every so often to make sure the washer/dryer's done), take out the trash, light a candle, and ensure overall tidiness.

Ellen responded to my text with: Good boy. Now get to work! with an angry face, followed by another text reading: Haha with a kissing emoji have fun Jackie-boy!

So I took to Ellen's bedroom, moving making her bed to the top of the list while I was there. Her pajamas and work clothes from the day prior laid on the floor by her dresser, obviously left out because she doesn't have to bother putting them in the hamper anymore now that she has a servant. I bundled them up and dumped them in the laundry basket, dropping an enticing pair of pre-worn white panties.

I pinched them up with two fingers, feeling like I shouldn't grab them with a full hand. A musky, unfamiliar smell teased my nose ever so slightly. I enjoyed it, and connected the dots to its source. It was far nicer than Ellen's rancid foot odor. I brought the panties closer to my nose and gave a light sniff. Then a stronger one. Then another, right up against my face, deeply filling my lungs to their maximum point. An erection didn't hesitate, but the rest of me did upon realising my arousal. The urge to rub one out before she got home called to me. Would I even have time? Most likely not. I had to get to work. So as a compromise, I tucked the panties away into my pocket for when I got home, planning on returning them the next day. There's no way in hell she'd miss them-- she had plenty of plain white panties.

I struggled going down the stairs with the hamper at my youthful size. Anything and everything that bumped my rigid member only made my arousal worse. As much as I wished for it to go away (by fulfillment) I let these teasing points of contact happen, and even sought them out as I went about my tasks; rubbing it on any nearby surface, gently toying with it with idle hands. Why did I do this to myself?

While the laundry ran, I took to Ellen's dishes. I was frankly overwhelmed by the amount from her dinner she had after I left. I frantically rinsed and filled the dishwasher and got it running in a heartbeat. I only hoped that I set it up right, as I'd never ran a dishwasher in my life.

I went back to check on the washer. Still running. I wasn't sure at all how long this process took but didn't have time to figure that out.

The pool didn't look so bad today. Thank god. I skimmed everything I could and--

"Wow, look at the help Ms. Ellen scored," I heard from behind me.

It was my sister, Tracy, looming over the fence (with greater ease than it took me to jump it given her older height).

"Go away," I said, blunt and short.

"You're gonna miss pizza night," Tracy taunted to irritate me.

"Just save me some," I said, keeping my attention on my work.

"Eh," Tracy feigned thought, "maybe," and left to go inside, chuckling at my demise.

The clock gave me less than an hour to finish up before Ellen got off work, then only an arm's length left before she got home. I paced for the laundry room to check again. Thank god-- the washer was done. I transferred the contents over to the dryer and moved on.

The half bathroom wasn't too bad, nor was the one upstairs. I wondered how many bathrooms a single woman needs. The answer is one: one master bathroom in the master bedroom. This is where all the action took place. Make up, cotton balls, a hair dryer, etc. I prayed that I put everything in the right place. After wiping down the counter, bathtub, toilet, mirror, I snatched the bag from the wastebin for my next task: the trash. Easy money. I took it out and replaced the liners no problem.

The end of Ellen's workday neared. I checked the dryer again to see if it was done. Of course not. So I moved on to overall tidying: scented candle, silverware, overall clutter-- nearly forgot the mail-- empty the dishwasher, double check the dryer.

Thank god. Thank GOD it finished. I frantically shuffled the contents out into the hamper and turned to the ironing board. I'd never once ironed in my life. At the time, I didn't even know what it was for. To my demise, I wasted my time ironing every single piece of clothing, only to be interrupted by--

"Oh, Jackie-boy!" Ellen called from upstairs.

My eyes widened in a panic. She expected me at the door waiting for her and I most certainly wasn't. So I ceased my ironing and ran upstairs to greet her.

"There you are," she said in a friendly tone, yet reprimanding. "I thought I told you I wanted you at the door to greet me every day."

"I'm-I'm sorry Ms. Ellen! I-it won't happen again!"

"Hm," Ellen scoffed. "Take my shoes," she said so curt, dropping her bag for me to catch. I took to my knees and popped her high heel off, releasing the wave of heat I so dreaded to be near. "Ahhh," she cooed, "That's SO much better," flexing her toes in the process.

Upon placing Ellen's things in her closet, I fessed up, "M-Ms. Ellen... I'm really sorry..."

"For what, dear?"

"I-I'm not done with my chores... the ones you want done before you get home..."

"What more do you have left to do?" she asked.

"Just the laundry. I'm almost done ironing it but it all still needs folded."

Ellen paused to think for a moment, "Were you ironing ALL of my things?" she asked.

I simply nodded, yes.

A hearty laugh escaped her, "Oh my, Jackie-boy. You don't have to iron EVERYTHING! Just the wrinkly stuff."

"I... I don't?" I was almost angry with her for not telling me.

Ellen pinched my cheek with her red-nailed fingers, "What a sweetie you are, going above and beyond for Ms. Ellen. Doesn't even know how to iron."

I blushed with embarrassment.

"I'm honestly impressed, Jackie-boy," Ellen noted as she sauntered into her home, hips swaying with a hypnotic pull, "You honestly got quite a bit done."

"Thank you, Ms. Ellen."

"Go ahead and fold my clothes now," she ordered, pointing into the laundry room, "and meet me at my chair for my foot rub."

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen," I said, dreading the raunchy smell that was likely to come. Part of me thought to take my time folding her clothes, but dismissed this for my own safety.

As I folded away in the laundry room, a little bell rung, stealing my attention. I dismissed it and kept folding, only to hear it again. And again. And again. There was a momentary pause before it rang vigorously, backed by Ellen calling my name: "Jackie-boy! Come here please!"

I bolted for Ellen, standing beside her recliner ready to serve. "Y-yes, Ms. Ellen."

"Water, please," she said so simply put.

"Right away, ma'am." I nodded.

"And don't forget the silver platter. You know I love being served with it."

"Of course, Ms. Ellen." My responses made me look like a natural at this.

I took back to my folding only to get interrupted again by that dainty chime.

I ran upstairs, mildly out of breath, "Y-yes, Ms. Ellen?"

Ellen's eyes didn't move from her mail as she pointed to the glass, red with a lipstick stain. I held my tongue and masked my irritation as I took to the kitchen for a washcloth to wipe it off with.

"You didn't already have a rag on you?" Ellen asked.

"Um..." I was a tad confused as I didn't know she expected that of me, "N-no, Ms. Ellen."

"Silly boy," she said with a wink before returning to her mail. "The help should always keep one handy just in case." Ellen took another sip of water, staining the glass once more, "Like right now," she smiled, gesturing the lip-printed glass in my direction.

I promptly wiped it clean, "My mistake, Ms. Ellen. I-it won't happen again."

"Good boy," Ellen smiled, "Now get back to your laundry. My feet are dying for your attention."

I shuddered at the thought of attending to her feet, but gave a quick bow to hide my disgust with a "Yes, Ms. Ellen," and returned to folding.

After a few more trips back and forth in response to the chime of the bell to perform some more arbitrary tasks for Ellen, I finally finished folding her laundry and put it away. Finding the locations each piece belonged, be it her closet or specific dresser drawer, took me a while thanks to trial and error. When I pulled open Ellen's panty drawer, the pile of underwear nearly put me in a hypnotic state. I reached into my pocket and clutched the dirty pair I stole, nearly regretting my decision to sneak it out of her house to violate it for my own pleasure. After taking care of Ellen's laundry, I knew I'd gone too far and couldn't turn back, lest I get into trouble for missing a piece of clothing.

The dainty chime of the bell startled my attention and brought me back downstairs, just in time after finishing up Ellen's laundry.

"Are you almost done yet?" Ellen asked in a mildly irritated tone, "I want my after work foot rub!"

"S-sorry, Ms. Ellen," I said, taking to my knees before her propped up feet right away, "I'll get right on it now. I just finished your laundry and planned on doing this nex-"

"Blah, blah, blah," Ellen mocked, "I don't want to hear excuses for your slip ups, only apologies."

"Yes, Ms. Ellen," I said as my boyish hands took to her large feet, "I'm sorry." The smell wafted over to me without warning, nonetheless expected. I had an easier time ignoring it while frantically apologetic.

"My feet are the ones you should be apologizing to," Ellen suggested. "Go on," she flexed her toes in a taunting motion, "apologize for making Ms. Ellen's tired feet wait for their much needed attention."

"I'm..." I was thrown off, and made awkward eye contact with her soles, "I'm... sorry..." I wasn't sure how to address this oddly specific part of Ellen.

Ellen let out a chuckle, holding back her hilarity at my humiliation. "No, no, silly. They're feet! It's not like they can hear you!"

I was confused, and came no closer to a conclusion, "How do I..." I looked to my neighbor for guidance.

"Kiss them," Ellen demanded more than she suggested.

My face looked visibly disgusted no matter how hard I tried to hide it. "K-k-kiss the-"

She cut me off, "Kiss my feet, Jackie-boy," and taunted me with a smile as her toes wiggled in eager anticipation.

What harm can two little kisses cause? Sure, her feet reeked and felt clammy from the day's sweat, but if I went in quick enough, I figured I wouldn't even notice how foul the action would be. In and out, one peck each, like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into a cold pool. I just had to do it and not think too much about it. So I closed my eyes to hide behind my humiliation, puckered my lips, and leaned in close to her soles. With my eyes closed, the subtle increase in temperature became my guide for how close I was to impact. In a reluctant countdown of 3, 2, 1 second, I felt the salt of her leftover, dried up foot sweat tingle on my lips with a subtle burn. My sinking, humiliated heart sent a shockwave of pumping blood all through my body that I swore reflected behind my closed eyelids with a quick flash of light. Just a peck was all it took and all I needed to endure. Just one more on the next foot. Even so, the same sensation of gut wrenching embarrassment triggered a reaction of disgust my body didn't know how to respond to.

Upon opening my eyes, I saw the true source of the flash. This wasn't some hallucination, though my sinking heart and pumping blood was entirely legitimate. Ellen sat in the recliner before me holding her phone, obviously pointing it in my direction for a picture.

"W-what... what are you doing?" I asked, trying to bottle up my horror, hoping this was some misunderstanding.

But Ellen didn't hesitate to come clean, "Just wanted some pictorial evidence of my sweet little neighbor boy-" she struggled to hold back laughter, "kissing my feet."

I nearly turned white with an internal panic, "Y-you... Why?" My twitching nervousness couldn't be tamed.

"I just like to have it," Ellen smiled a devilish grin. "Something I can use in case you're ever bad."

"In... in case I'm ever b-bad?" I asked, terrified to find out what she'd do with the photos.

"Oh yes," Ellen sung, "You wouldn't want any of your friends from school to see you kissing your neighbor's stinky feet, would you?" Her awareness of the odor her feet emitted led me to wonder if she kept them that way on purpose.

"M-m-my friends?" The thought of my peers finding out about this brought my hands together to scramble about in nervousness. "H-how do you even know how to... how to contact them? Who to send them to?"

"You don't know?" Ellen asked.

"Know what?" I responded.

Ellen paused in thought before taking in a deep breath from her nose with closed eyes and a risen brow. "Well, no matter. If you're good, you won't find out. Unless you really DO want to find out?"

"N-no, Ms. Ellen..." I answered in a shaky tone.

"What was that?" she teased.

"N-no, Ms. Ellen... P-p-please don't show anybody those pictures...." I begged, visibly distraught and willing to do anything to keep my embarrassment from reaching the public.

"Then be a very, very good boy for me, okay?" The top of Ellen's nasty foot caressed my cheek. I took it without complaint to stay on her good side.

"Yes, Ms. Ellen. Anything you want."

Ellen smiled in a red, curly grin, "That's what I like to hear." And with two snaps of a finger, she returned me to my task at hand, "Now, I'm tired of waiting. Get to work. Start rubbing my feet while I unwind."

I didn't hesitate, and took hold of her clammy peds right away, "Y-yes, Ms. Ellen."

Ellen lounged about, browsing her phone and watching some TV while I slaved away massaging her fragrant feet. After a refill of her water and another lipstick stain, my attention fixated on her needs, and I stood to promptly wipe the lipstick stain left behind on the glass.

"Excuse me," Ellen said, sounding legitimately angry this time, "Are those..." pointing down to my wiping hand.

Through my panic and desire to stay on Ellen's good side, I didn't take note of what I pulled from my pocket; the washcloth, or...

"Are those my underwear?" Ellen asked, snatching them out of my hand to investigate. "What are you doing with my underwear?!"

I took a step back and froze as guilty tears dripped from my eyes as I realized how quickly I fell short. Surely Ellen had all the reason necessary to expose my humiliating, foot-kissing tasks to the world.

"I'm sorry!" I cried, falling to my knees with my hands cupped to damn near pray to this woman, "P-please, Ms. Ellen, I'm sorry! It... it was stupid!" I dropped my face to the floor in shame.

"What were you planning on doing with these?" Ellen demanded to know.

"I was..." I didn't want to tell her, "I was..." so I tried to beat around the bush, "I was gonna bring them back tomorrow."

"Why were you going to take them in the first place?" Ellen said as she approached my kneeling body, towering over me and placing me in her shadow.

I couldn't come up with an alternative fast enough, and I didn't want to lie and worsen the trouble I was already in. "I was... I was g-going to... take them home with me..."

"And?" she tapped her foot on the floor waiting for the whole truth.

"M-m-m..." I legitimately struggled to say it, "Mastur... b-b-bate..."

No doubt Ellen already knew this was the case, she just wanted to hear me say it. "You wanted to masturbate with my panties?"

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen..." I said so obediently.

Ellen squatted closer to my level, still looming over me with her bent legs at my sides, opened up to the glory of her womanhood within her skirt, donned in actively worn panties. Her sharp-nailed fingers played with my hair as she asked me, "Do you think I'm pretty, Jackie-boy?"

And damn is she ever. Menacing and terrifying, but gorgeous for her age. "Y-yes, Ms. Ellen," I said genuinely, keeping my face to the floor the space between her legs out of sight.

"Have you ever masturbated to me before?" Ellen asked further.

"Yes... yes, Ms. Ellen," I said in all honesty.

"How often do you masturbate, Jackie-boy?" she asked.

I had to think about this one, as I did so frequently that I lost track of how often I rubbed one out. "M-maybe... once a day?" That sounded like a reasonable estimate.

"Once a day?!" Ellen said in melodramatic shock. "Don't you know that chronic masturbation can fog your mind?"

I didn't understand, "W-what do you mean, Ms. Ellen?" I said, almost looking up to ask but stopping when my eyes crossed the path up her skirt, bowing my face back down to the floor.

"You don't know? Jacking your little Jackie too much will get you addicted- and frankly, it sounds like you already are. Boys that jerk off too much can't focus on what's really important; school, homework," Ellen slowly gripped a chunk of my hair as she stressed "chores" with threatening emphasis. "I really oughta go to your mother about this and tell her what a pervert you are."

The horror of possibility fired off in my brain; mom would surely send me to live with my hard-ass, military dad if she found out about this. "No!" I pleaded, firing my head up to make desperate eye contact, only to make such contact with Ellen's cell phone, fixed on me, recording a video of my begging and confession.

She promptly stopped the recording as she stood with a proud smile. "I think that's all the evidence I need for proof. A pathetic little confession of your perversion to pair with these fantastic photos of little Jackie-boy on his knees smooching my feet."

"I'll do better," I begged, face still buried in the floor, "I can focus better on my chores, I promise. Please! Please don't send those to anybody! And please don't tell my mom! Please, Ms. Ellen!" I brought my face back down to the floor to kiss her feet like royalty. "Please, Ms. Ellen!" I cried between smooches, "It won't happen again, I swear. I'll do anything."

Ellen's brow raised to feign disbelief as I fell right into her hand, "Anything? Really? Wow..." she said in a melodramatic tone that sounded fake. "I dunno... ANYTHING is a pretty strong word. Are you really willing to do whatever it takes to keep these pictures out of the hands of your friends, your classmates, your mother?"

The kissing never stopped. My desperation piloted me and drove me to fully oblige, "Yes. Yes Ms. Ellen. Whatever it takes. My mom can't find out about this."

Ellen lifted her leg to place a foot on my cheek and pressed my head into the floor. "Since this is only your first offense under my authority- albeit a heinous one- I'll let it slide so long as you listen, obey, and do everything I tell you. Understood?"

Gritting through the pain of the hardwood floor from Ellen's increasing pressure, I agreed in pathetic agony, "Yes!"