Submitting to the Neighbour Lady

By the time I was downstairs my mother informed me that I was running too late for breakfast and that perhaps going hungry would be a good lesson for me. As I dwadled flustered by so many things happening to me at once my mother admonished me, "For gods sake Donald it's 8.30 and if you don't hurry you'll be late again."

Chasten I grabbed my books and lunch bag and dashed out the door. I was half way to school before my stomach sank as I remembered that I was supposed to have been at Mrs Post's by 7 to do morning chores for her. I could see the school as I stood there dithering over whether I should continue or turn back. I had never skipped school but knew that they took a very dim view of any unauthorised missing of classes. Students that did were punished publicly as a lesson to any others who might contemplate such miscreant behaviour.

Mrs Post on the other hand had already proved how punishing she could be. Being late I surmised that I was already in deep trouble with her. But what would she do if I didn't turn up at all. Call my parents? They had both gone to work but would she dare to call them there? Or the school? It was a dilemma I was incapable of processing and I stood there so distracted that I didn't notice Belinda and her friend Nancy standing there watching me.

I was jolted out of my tormented reverie by Belinda's sharp barking voice, "Sissy!" Stunned I could only gawk at her first going white with fear before blushing furiously red at their giggling reaction. Belinda had a cruel calculating gleam in her eye that made my knees weak, so consumed as I was by her that I didn't even notice the amused devious look on her friend Nancy's face.

Stunned mute by Belinda's sudden appearance I continued to stare at her spell bound. With an evil malicious smile creasing her face Belinda sidled up to me until I could feel the heat of her body pressing against mine. In sing-song mocking voice she inquired super sweetly, "Aren't you supposed to be at my mothers house Sissy." Hearing Nancy's giggle I wished with all my might that Belinda would stop calling me Sissy but instead just hung my head perfectly shamed. Inspired Belinda continued highly amused with herself and her desire to impress and entertain her friend, "Aww is the widdle Sissy ashamed of what he is?"

I was near to tears with frustration and shame as Belinda teased and Nancy giggled gleefully. Now having no doubt that if I continued on to school I would suffer mercilessly at Belinda's hands all day I took what appeared to be the easier route and walked off. I hurried down the street as the two girls jeered unkindly behind me not knowing where to go just wanting to be away from them.

At first I thought I would go home but as I drew closer to our neighbourhood I was drawn unhappily towards Mrs Post's house. It took immense will power to force my trembling hand to open her gate. Timidly I knocked on her door and with grim unease awaited my fate. Thinking I hadn't knocked loud enough I was about to knock again when the door was flung open. Standing there was an obviously unimpressed Mrs Post. As I quaked with fear before her she beheld my presence on her porch with open disdain. Finally with a voice so cold my stomach sank with uncertainty Mrs Post asked, "What are you doing here?"

Some how I managed to mutter stumbling over myself to respond, "Mmmmmmy-my-my chores Maam."

"You're late," dripped from Mrs Post's lips with utter scorn.

Not knowing how to respond at first I tried to plead with her with my eyes but her look made my blood go cold. In a choking voice I implored Mrs Post, "Please," I whined, "I'm sorry. Very very sorry." When there was no softening of her harsh stance my body slumped beaten. I resigned myself to going to school and dealing with the punishment for tardiness and hoping that I would be able to avoid Belinda and Tommy for the day.

Just as I was turning to leave Mrs Post's voice cut through the fog of despair enveloping my senses with a curt, "Get in here."

Before I thought about it I jumped at her offer scrambling through the door. Mrs Post crowded me in the narrow backdoor hallway as I panted pathetically with relief. Looming over me she murmured coldly, "Strip from the waist down." Not knowing why I clumsily attempted to comply. Mrs Post kept crowding me making the task frustratingly more difficult. When I was finally naked from the waist down Mrs Post barked at me snarling, "Into the kitchen Sissy. Now!" I stumbled over my discarded clothing as I scurried to obey.

Blindly I stumbled into the kitchen to stand stark still in the middle of the cold kitchen floor. It was only when I managed to draw a long shuddering breath that I realised that there was already some one there. Stupefied I gaped in awe at old Mrs Jones sitting calmly at the kitchen table drawing contemplatively on a cigarette like it was every day that a boy stood in her friend's kitchen half naked. While I stood there before this neighbourhood matriarch gaping dumbfounded feeling cool air waft about the lower half of my body Mrs Post joined her. The two women subjected me to withering dispassionate glares of contempt as they smoked in silence.

Eventually Mrs Jones inquired disinterestedly, "This Edith's boy?"

Hearing my mother's christian name jolted me out of my befuddlement and into the horrifying reality of my predicament. It felt like a train was roaring through my head as Mrs Post confirmed that I was indeed Edith's child, "Young Donnie here is a horrible child Mary, truly evil. Picking fights with my Tommy. Bullying poor Belinda. It's painfully obvious that his own parents can't control the boy." She regaled Mrs Jones in a nasal tone as the older lady uhmed and ahhed while nodding her head knowingly.

"Only yesterday I took it upon myself to try to steer him in the right direction but as you can probably guess he has failed me already," Mrs Post went on in a wearied tone while Mrs Jones shook her head in despair muttering, "Kids", through a cloud of smoke.

"Yes Mary," Mrs Post agreed quietly, "kids." I stood before the two harridans resigned but still not sure whether Mrs Jones' presence was a good thing or a terrible escalation in my predicament. Eying me with frigid distaste Mrs Post informed her friend, "Though like most bullies Mary when you confront them, they show their true colours."

Mrs Post let her statement sink in while Mrs Jones smoked eying me with open disdain before smirking quietly, "They're all sissies Jean."

"And Sissy," Mrs Post inquired sweetly, "what are you supposed to do when you see me?" Not knowing I could only look at her blankly. She held my gaze for a moment before blowing a cloud of smoke in my direction and began tapping the toe of her shoe on the floor. It finally came to me and I missed the amused look the two women shared as I frantically dropped to the floor to place kisses on both of Mrs Post's shoes.

"That's better Sissy," I heard Mrs Post admonish me her voice dripping with contempt as I crouched on all fours before her my lips still dutifully pressed against her right shoe. Mrs Post watched me grovel before her while asking nonchalantly, "When were you supposed to be here Sissy?"

Swallowing hard I managed to mumble almost coherently into her shoe, "At seven Maam."

I remained groveling before her as both women looked pointedly at the kitchen clock shaking their heads. Mrs Post pushed my face away with the point of her shoe and blew out a cloud of smoke asking with exasperation, "And where are you supposed to be right now Sissy?"

Frustration, shame, uncertainty and a building anger made me snap peevishly in response, "School."

Both ladies looked up with mild surprise. In the pregnant pause that followed my outburst the only sounds were the ticking clock and both women drawing reflectively on their cigarettes. Cocking her head to the side Mrs Post exhaled a lung full of smoke through her nose causing me to shiver with foreboding. "Well," announced Mrs Post stubbing out her smoke and pushing herself up from her chair, "seems some one is in need of a reminder of just how much trouble they are really in."

For such an average sized woman Mrs Post seemed to loom over me as I crouched before her in only a t-shirt. The nasty look in her eye told that I was going to pay dearly for my tardiness and attitude. I jumped at the commanding tone in her voice when Mrs Post snapped, "Place that chair there Sissy," pointing out a kitchen chair and a spot before Mrs Jones.

"Turn it around," she hissed after I had placed it assuming it should be facing the older woman. Clumsily I did as ordered then stood there waiting for instructions.

Mrs Post asked Mrs Jones with exaggerated charm, "Mary would you be so kind as to assist me."

Mrs Jones' smile stole the will from my body, "Love too," I heard her coo in response as I began to quake with dread.

From a distance I heard Mrs Post telling me, "Kneel on the chair Sissy." Slowly already on the verge of tears I mounted the chair facing the evil smile of Mrs Jones. Without instruction Mrs Jones reached out to take hold of my wrists. I squirmed slightly beneath her touch until her nails began to inexorably dig into my flesh. The woman had a nasty set of nails and a grip that belied her age. While I was focused on the discomfort Mrs Jones was inflicting on my wrists Mrs Jones struck my butt cheek with a wooden spoon. The shock of the unexpected blow caused me to lurch forward on the chair. Having seen the strike coming Mrs Jones had dug her nails in expertly distracting me. The next stinging smack of the spoon had me squirming on the chair as I was torn between what was more painful, the spoon or Mrs Jones' nails.

My poor buttocks was still sensitive and sore from the previous days beating by Mrs Post with her strap and it didn't take many smacks with from her wooden spoon before I was crying, tears silently rolling down my cheeks. Mrs Post was cruelly efficient with her wooden spoon, selecting places on my exposed buttocks and thighs that she seemed to know would inflict the most pain. "Cries like a Sissy," Mrs Jones informed Mrs Post digging her nails in deeper.

I didn't care any more I just wanted the punishment session to end. Finally it must have as Mrs Jones' grip on my wrists lessened while I simpered silently with my ass burning. I drew in deep shuddering breaths as Mrs Post stroked my tender buttocks gently with her spoon fully expecting the spanking to continue.

Giving my butt a meaningful swat that made yelp Mrs Post barked, "Down!" Mrs Jones released my wrists as I scrambled to get off the chair virtually falling to the floor. Before I could stand Mrs Post pushed me onto all fours with the toe of her shoe. Pointing with her spoon to the far corner of the kitchen Mrs Post commanded, "Get over there Sissy." Crawling dutifully I squeaked from a stinging smack that sent me scurrying as fast as I could to the indicated corner. Once there I waited for instructions trembling, anticipating more smacks to my poor blistered buttocks.

"Nose in the corner Sissy," Mrs Post commanded and on all fours I promptly buried my nose in the corner. "Stay there while I decide what to do with you," Mrs Post purred in my ear pushing my face uncomfortably into the corner. I heard a chair scrape across the floor and the lighting of fresh cigarettes. The two women ignored me while they smoked and gossiped about the neighbourhood until there was a soft knock on the back door.

The knock brought a pause to their conversation before Mrs Jones inquired, "You think that's her?"

An exasperated Mrs Post replied, "Probably." Followed by the harsh scraping of a chair being pushed away from the table and Mrs Post adding, "and the bitch is late. What ever happened to manners and punctuality this morning?"

From my corner I listened to her heels clicking hard on the floor as she headed for the back door clearly displeased. A curt, "You're late," met whomever had knocked followed by an incoherent babbling female voice. "Oh enough of your silly excuses," I heard Mrs Post snap, "just get your ass in here." There was a faint squeak of distress followed by Mrs Post's sharp hiss, "Hush up you dumb cunt and show me what you're wearing." Her tone made me quake with fear for whoever was the focus of Mrs Post's attentions but her language had me wide eyed with awe.

Mrs Post's voice changed to a demeaning sing-song lilt, "Oh now aren't those pretty panties," I heard her coo. The other persons voice was too muffled to hear and I jumped startled when Mrs Post's voice barked, "Drop them! Now!" The sound of rustling fabric was followed by the sound of some one being struck and Mrs Post snarling, "Come on. Show me."

In the sudden silence I could hear Mrs Jones smoking behind me then a quiet mewing of some one in pain from the back hall way that slowly built in volume. Mrs Post sounding unnervingly calm asked the mewing person, "What's this?" A squeal of pain was quickly followed by an anguished sob. "We talked about this," Mrs Post's calm voice informed the person trying not to scream out her pain. "Right," Mrs Post snapped over the keening woman's squealing anguish, "come with me."

I could hear Mrs Post's heels as she came back into the kitchen. Unable to contain my curiosity I peeked from my corner to try and see what was happening and to whom. I caught a brief glimpse of Mrs Post dragging a petite blonde woman into the kitchen with her panties bunched about her ankles causing her to stumble along. In utter disbelief I realised that she was holding up her skirt and petticoats, and that Mrs Post had a hold of the other woman's pubic hair to pull her unresistingly behind her. I turned and stared goggling at my first real pussy ever. I watched transfixed as Mrs Post dragged the petite blonde unrelentingly to the middle of the kitchen before Mrs Jones. The blondes features were twisted in pain but she didn't appear to be at all surprised to see Mrs Jones staring unemotionally at her from behind a cloud of exhaled smoke.

With a firm grip of the woman's pubic hair Mrs Post tugged it this way then that making the blondes features twist in painful discomfort as she whimpered in distress. Ignoring the blondes whining Mrs Post shook her head asking Mrs Jones, "We did speak to her about this didn't we Mary?"

Smirking as the blonde squeaked while Mrs Post pulled up on her pubic hair some more Mrs Jones drawled, "We certainly did Jean. We certainly did." The blonde continued to squeal rising to her tip toes as Mrs Post's hold on her hair pulled upwards.

Looking deep into the distressed woman's eyes Mrs Post asked with mock sweetness, "Did we speak to you about this Gwen?"

On "this" Mrs Post pulled harshly on the blondes pubes causing her to dance on her tip toes squealing in pain. Unable to respond coherently Gwen could only nod her head desperately trying to get Mrs Post stop. Not placated at all Mrs Post gave the the blonde woman's pubic hair another vicious tug snarling condescendingly, "Well Gwen, if we talked to you about this and you had done what we had talked about I wouldn't be able to do this!'

Again on "this" Mrs Post jerked viciously on the other woman's pubes. Gwen's face twisted in agony as she tried not to scream out loud. Tears were streaming down her face as she was reduced to keening pathetically by the wicked attack on her pubic hair. Mrs Post changed from pulling viciously up to viciously down then without warning released the distraught women. Caught by surprise and spent from her ordeal the woman Gwen crashed to her knees on the hard kitchen floor.

Neither Mrs Post nor Mrs Jones showed her any concern as she knelt before them simpering silently in pain. Mrs Post returned to her seat and lit up another cigarette. Drawing longingly on it she turned to Mrs Jones asking, "Just what can you do with useless twats that don't listen?"

Mrs Jones indicated her agreement with a snorted laugh before pointing her cigarette at me. I froze like a deer in headlights as Mrs Post turned in my direction. The look on her face was all I needed to know that she was not pleased that my nose wasn't still buried in the corner. Unable to look away I was surprised when she too pointed and started laughing. Covering her mouth with her hand Mrs Jones started laughing too. Not sure why they were laughing at me I blushed with uncertainty. When I finally realised that Mrs Post was pointing at the erection standing out between thighs my blushing turned to a burning red. I hadn't even noticed that I had an erection, yet there it was.

The two women now ignored the silently weeping Gwen and turned their attentions on me. "Crawl over here Sissy," Mrs Post called out gaily. My body obeyed and I was very aware of the erection that swayed beneath me as I did as I was told.

When I reached the table Mrs Post held up a hand to get me to stop. "Sit back," I was told and I sat on my haunches nervously. "Lean back and show us what you've got there Sissy," Mrs Post asked in a very conversational tone. Gwen had stopped whimpering and Mrs Jones eyes had gone beady with interest as I leant back on my hands and thrust my pelvis with my erection forward and up.

Smiling disarmingly Mrs Post picked up her wooden spoon and reaching out to gently tapped my erect cock. "What's this Sissy?", she purred condescendingly as I willed myself not to flinch or pull away. I couldn't find words to explain my erect member in front of these three women and doubted my voice would have worked anyways, all I could manage was a low moan of despair.

Still smiling Mrs Post used her spoon to stroke my cock making my body twitch involuntarily. Her smile broadened as she seemed pleased at what she could do. Holding my exposed position before her was both mentally and physically difficult and I began to struggle. My body was visibly trembling from the strain when Mrs Post reached out to lightly caress my erection up and down with her spoon. My breathing became ragged as she continued with a fixated look in her eye. Just as she was about to bring me to an orgasm she lashed out with lightening speed to give my erect cock a vicious smack with the wooden spoon.

Her strike was so unexpected the pain so excruciating that I couldn't even scream as my body bucked and I crumpled into a fetal position. Whimpering through tears of unimaginable pain I could hear Mrs Post and Mrs Jones cackling with glee. Mrs Post laughed something at me but all I could think of was my poor stinging cock. It wasn't until she kicked me the second time with the toe of her shoe that I gave her my sniffling attention.

Like she was speaking to some one mentally challenged she encouraged me to, "Show us what you've got there now Sissy." When I could only look at her with teary fear filled eyes she nudged me with her shoe again while cajoling me, "Come on Sissy, show my friends your poor widdle sissy dick." She sneered the word "dick" at me in a hard condescending tone. Trembling with fear and uncertainty I slowly unfolded from my protective position to show my poor stinging penis to the eagerly awaiting women. "Well, well, well," crowed a very pleased Mrs Post, "looks like my widdle Sissy's widdle dick doesn't want to play any more."

Very near to bursting into tears again I unhappily awaited Mrs Post's next move. It was everything I could do to hold myself on display before her, my dick still tingling with pain hung limply and shriveled for them to see. The beginning of a squeal of terror came from my throat as Mrs Post reached out with her spoon to lift my now completely deflated dick laughing, "Oh Mary, he's sprung a leak!" Mrs Post showed her friend the wet spot on her spoon before they both turned to cast withering looks down at me.

"Filthy bloody thing," Mrs Jones voice dripped with contempt as I looked down at my shriveled dick aghast that a clear fluid was oozing from it. When Mrs Jones wooden spoon scooped up some of the fluid pooling on my thigh I looked up at with uncomprehending terror filled eyes.