My Neighbor Discovered My Secret and Punished Me That Afternoon

I grew up on a long plot of land on the outskirts of a small inland town, one of those lots where two houses fit: my family’s up front, and another smaller one out back, separated by a dirt yard and an old lemon tree. Marcela lived in the back house with her mother. Marcela was my older sister’s age, and when I was a kid I used to sneak into her games just so I wouldn’t be alone.

From those years I remember very little clearly, except for one detail that stayed carved into me without my understanding why. In one of those childhood games, she played the stern stepmother and, when something went wrong, she scolded me with a fake authority that left me speechless. It was just a children’s game, nothing more than that, but the image of Marcela giving orders, with that voice that brooked no argument, lodged itself somewhere inside me and stayed there, latent, for years.

It truly awakened much later, when I was already around twenty and she was a fully grown woman still living in the house at the back. By then, what I hadn’t known how to name as a child had a very specific name and shape. I was obsessed with her feet. I was obsessed with her flip-flops, those worn blue Havaianas she left lying by the door, the shape of her foot imprinted in the rubber from so much use.

It isn’t easy to explain without sounding ridiculous. I spent whole afternoons looking for an excuse to go to the back, to see her cross the yard barefoot, to watch how she slipped off a flip-flop and let it hang from her toes while she talked to her mother. And when the house was empty, I did what I had been doing for years in secret: I went in, took her Havaianas, locked myself in the bathroom, and jerked off with my cock hard as a rock, smelling the sweaty rubber, rubbing the sole over my face and my balls, convinced no one would ever know.

No one would ever know. That was my only peace of mind.

***

That February afternoon I heard her shout in the yard. I ran out, more out of fright than bravery, and found her wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, putting on her flip-flops in little hops on the wet cement.

“The power went out,” she said, still rattled. “The shower started sparking and everything cut off.”

I offered to help. It happened often in my house and I already knew where to look. I went in, checked the electric showerhead, and saw that both wires were stripped at the splice, touching each other. I went for electrical tape and asked her to bring over a ladder.

Marcela wouldn’t let me climb. She said she was older and she’d do the work; I was to stay below, holding the ladder steady. I stood where she told me, both hands on the rungs, and she climbed up.

That was when I looked up and lost my breath. Her feet were right in front of my face, a hand’s breadth from my mouth, still damp, with the flip-flop hanging from the tip. The smell of wet rubber and her skin hit me all at once and I forgot where I was. I don’t know how long I stood there like that, hypnotized, until I noticed she had stopped working and was moving her foot slowly, bringing it toward my face on purpose.

She came down the ladder very slowly, never taking her eyes off me. I had an erection there was no way to hide under my shorts; my cock was straining hard against the fabric and a wet patch gave me away at the tip. She saw it. She planted herself in front of me, crossed her arms, and tilted her head.

“What the hell is with you staring at my feet like that?” she asked.

I stammered something that wasn’t even a word. Shame had dried out my throat.

“I’ve seen you lots of times,” she went on, lowering her voice. “You go in when nobody’s around, you grab my flip-flops and lock yourself in the bathroom. I’ve been spying on you through the window. I saw you jack off with my Havaiana on your face, licking my sole like a dog. Are you going to explain yourself or not?”

There was no escape. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and told her everything: the childhood game, the obsession that came after, the years sneaking away with her Havaianas, the spurts onto the rubber, the times I’d put the flip-flop in my mouth while I jerked off. I said it all staring at the floor, expecting her to throw me out screaming.

She didn’t throw me out. She closed the door with her foot, never letting go of my arm, and leaned against it.

“So the little boy liked being scolded,” she said, and for the first time she smiled, but it wasn’t a tender smile. “Well. Now you’re going to have real reasons to be punished. Take off your shorts.”

***

I froze. Fear, shame, and a need I couldn’t contain mixed together until I was left unable to react. Marcela didn’t wait. She grabbed me by the ear like I was a child, yanked my shorts and underwear down to my knees in one motion, and my cock sprang free, stiff, throbbing, the tip shining. She laughed when she saw it.

“Look at that thing. Dripping and I didn’t even touch you. You’re a filthy pig.”

She took me by the hair to the bathroom, dragging me around half naked, and lowered the toilet lid. She sat down, crossed her legs, and started bouncing her foot, making the heel tap against the rubber of the flip-flop. The tapping filled the silent bathroom.

“You’re not going to lick my flip-flops in secret anymore,” she said. “You’re going to lick them here, with me watching. Kneel.”

I knelt. She stretched her foot toward my mouth and ordered me to start. I wanted to take the Havaiana off first, but she wouldn’t let me: I had to run my tongue between her skin and the rubber, in that warm, sweaty gap. The taste hit me full force, salty, with the bitter taste of the worn sole I already knew by heart from my secret wanks, and shame began to give way to something else. A moan kept slipping out of me every time my tongue touched the sole of her foot.

“Deeper. Between the toes,” she ordered, moving her foot. “Suck my toes one by one. Suck the big one like it’s a cock. Come on, put some effort into it.”

I worked her toes apart with my tongue and took them into my mouth one after another while she moved her foot against my face. When I got to the big toe, I closed my lips around it and sucked it the way she’d ordered, sliding my tongue in and out around it. Saliva ran down my chin. My cock throbbed between my legs, hard, red, leaking pre-cum onto the bathroom floor. Then she took off her flip-flop and ran it over my face, over my lips, slowly, watching my reaction.

“Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.”

I obeyed. She pressed the sole of the Havaiana onto my tongue, pushed a little, and rubbed it from top to bottom. I tasted old rubber, summer sweat, the dirt from the yard. I swallowed saliva and kept licking without being asked.

“Come to my lap,” she said then, pointing with the flip-flop in her hand. “If I have to repeat myself, the next hit goes to your face.”

I stood up, covering my cock with my hands. She slapped my hands away, stood there looking at it without shame, and tapped the tip gently twice with the rubber. My cock jerked and I let out a moan I couldn’t smother.

“Let’s see if you’re still like that after the beating,” she laughed.

I lay over her lap. She shifted so my dick was trapped between her thighs, caught, throbbing against her warm skin; every time she breathed I felt the pubic hair brush me. She grabbed my hair with one hand and started in with the other. The first flip-flop blows landed dry on my ass, one after another, without pause. I tried to move, but her grip on my hair pinned me to her lap. It burned. It burned more and more, and the blows wouldn’t stop, and tears slipped out before I could stop them. Each hit made me lurch forward and my cock rubbed against her thighs, and that friction with the pain was madness I didn’t know how to bear.

When she stopped, I was trembling and had soaked her thigh with the liquid dripping out of me. She wouldn’t let me get up.

“Look at the little pig, drooling all over the place. Take my flip-flop and bite it,” she ordered. “If it hurts, clench your teeth, but I don’t want to hear you. We’ve only just started. The belt is still to come.”

I picked up the Havaiana from the floor and shoved it between my teeth. It was warm, sweaty, with her smell on it. The blows started again and I cried softly, writhing on her lap, biting the rubber so I wouldn’t make a sound, while my cock rubbed against her flesh and my orgasm threatened to spill out without permission. At some point I stopped feeling the pain as pain; it became one hot thing moving through my whole body, from my burning ass to the tip of my cock, and no matter how much it hurt, part of me wanted more.

***

Marcela stopped and shoved me down off her lap. I got to my feet, still hard as a pole, gleaming with my own fluid, and she shook her head, amused.

“So you liked it. Look at you, dirty boy. Let’s go to the bedroom and see if you still think the same.”

She took me by the arm to the room and made me kneel on the bed. She untied the towel and stood naked in front of me. I saw her breasts for the first time, round, with dark hard nipples; I saw the patch of hair on her cunt, her thick thighs, all of her fully grown woman’s body. I turned my head instinctively to look at her better and got a slap that left my cheek burning.

“You look when I tell you.”

With the same towel she tied my ankles together and fastened the other end to the bedpost. Any idea of escaping was ruled out. I heard her open the closet and take out a leather belt; she doubled it over and cracked it once, twice in the air, measuring the fear it gave me.

“This is for every time you used my flip-flops without permission. For every time you came on my Havaiana, one belt lash. How many times was it? A lot?”

The first belt lash tore a yell out of me. I threw myself onto the mattress, writhing, with my cock pinned against the sheet, but she hauled me up by the hair.

“Every time you get out of position, it’s ten more. Understood? And lift your ass up high, so I don’t have to tell you again.”

I begged her; it did no good. She kept going, on my ass, on my legs, on the crack of my ass, while I bit the pillow and clung to it with all my strength. I lost count. Every hit made me clench my cheeks and feel my cock trapped against the mattress, throbbing, wetting the sheet. When she stopped, she caressed the marked skin with a tenderness that had nothing to do with the blows, almost a massage, sliding her fingers over the hot welts, down to the hollow between my legs, brushing my balls with her nails. That contradiction undid me more than the belt had. A long moan slipped out of me, pure subjugated dog.

“Look at that. His cock swells with every smack. You’re such a slut.”

Then I felt her moving. I thought she was going to untie me. Instead she took off one flip-flop, came closer to my face, and rubbed my mouth with the rubber, slowly, rolling it over my lips. From that position I could see her whole body, standing naked in front of me, flip-flop in hand and her hairy cunt at my face level, and I knew that image would never leave me.

She grabbed my hair and pressed my face against her sex. The smell of wet cunt filled my nose and mouth. I’d never been with a woman; I didn’t know what to do, but it wasn’t necessary: she directed everything. She spread her lips against my mouth, showing me where to press my tongue, teaching me with every yank of my hair where the clit was.

“There. There, lick there. With the tip of your tongue. Shake it. Like that, pig, like that.”

I sucked her clit the way she asked, flicking my tongue over that hard pearl while she rubbed against my face, soaking my chin, my nose, my cheeks. When I felt her open more, I pushed my tongue into her cunt, as deep as I could, and pulled it out dripping with her juices. The taste was strong, salty, sticky, and I couldn’t get enough. I went back up to the clit, sucked it between my lips, tugged gently with my mouth, and she pulled my hair to set the rhythm.

She moved faster and faster against my mouth and, at the same time, with the flip-flop in her other hand, she went back to striking my ass in time. Flip-flop smack and rubbing grind, flip-flop smack and rubbing grind. The blows and her breathing sped up together until I felt her tense, press my face against her cunt until I was nearly choking, swallow back a cry and tremble all over. She came in my mouth, soaking me, and I felt the hot stream slide down my chin and neck. She stayed like that for a few seconds, gripping my hair, pressing me against her, and then she collapsed onto the bed, panting, her legs still open and her cunt swollen and shining.

***

She stayed quiet for a good while; all you could hear was her breathing gradually slowing down. Then she sat up, smiled like someone satisfied with the result, and came to untie my ankles.

As soon as she let me go, I looked for a way to leave, but she caught me by the arm.

“Pick up my flip-flops and put them on my feet.”

I did it, kneeling, slipping a Havaiana onto each foot like it was the most natural thing in the world, with my cock still hard between my legs and dripping. She watched me from above.

“You like them, don’t you? Up.”

She made me kneel on the bed, with my legs spread to either side of her body and my face over her feet.

“Lick. Make it obvious that you like it.”

I started licking her feet and the rubber of the flip-flops at the same time. I ran my tongue over her instep, her heel, between her toes; I licked the sole of the Havaiana from end to end, swallowing the taste of rubber and sweat. The excitement made me forget the burning in my ass. Marcela reached between my legs, grabbed my cock, and started jerking me off very slowly, measuring each motion, her palm tight around the head, going up and down with calculated slowness, watching me endure it. A long moan escaped me and I soaked her hand with what had already been leaking out.

“Look at that thing. It’s not all yours, huh. It’s all mine. This cock is mine now.”

She tightened her fist and sped up a little until I started pushing my hips against her hand without being able to help it. She dug her nails into my balls and ripped another moan out of me.

“Without permission you don’t come. Not a drop. Understood?”

I nodded as best I could, my tongue still stuck to the sole of her foot. She kept jerking me off slowly, stopping every time she felt I was close, squeezing the base of my cock with two fingers to cut off the orgasm, leaving me on the edge. She did it three, four times. I whined, licked her feet desperately, begged her under my breath.

“Please. Please, Marcela. Let me finish. Please.”

“Please what? Ask properly.”

“Please let me come. Let me come on your flip-flop, please.”

She laughed. When she realized I wasn’t going to last much longer, she asked me to hand her a Havaiana. She took it and, while she struck my ass with gentler blows, kept going with the other hand, gripping my cock firmly, shaking it fast. She pressed the rubber sole of the flip-flop against the tip of my dick at exactly the right moment and said:

“Now. Mess up my flip-flop, pig. Come on it like you’ve come so many times before.”

It all hit me at once. The first spurt shot out hard and slapped the sole of the Havaiana; then came two, three, four more, long, thick, spilling over her hand, sliding down my cock and falling onto her feet. My body shook so badly I collapsed over her legs, empty and surrendered, my cock still throbbing and dripping the last drops onto the stained rubber.

It took me a while to recover. She stroked my marked ass in silence until finally she spoke.

“Now clean it. With your tongue. Everything you dirtied.”

I licked my cum off the flip-flop, off her feet, off her toes. I swallowed my own semen while she watched, satisfied.

“You can go now. I hope you learned your lesson: from now on, my Havaianas get licked here, on my feet. And you’d better get that ass ready, because this is only just beginning.”

I got dressed, still dizzy, as if waking from a dream. Before crossing the yard, I turned the electric switch back on, just as she had ordered.

After that afternoon many more followed, with her foot games, her flip-flops, and her belt, but those are other stories. Today Marcela no longer lives in the back house, and I admit I still look for her in every woman I meet, hoping to find someone who wants to take control the way she did that afternoon, or even with more appetite.