The Family Feud IV

Chapter Forty Eight
Mort’s Daf Yomi: My Neighbor’s Baal Teshuvah, Oy Vey.

**Note to reader: This is an excerpt from the Diary of neighbor Mort Goldman. It occurs after Wendy has some attitude adjustment shortly after leaving her Dave Vogel’s house. In order to increase readability, some of the dialogue exchanged was altered to appear in a ‘narrative’ story format. Mort has a tendency to slip in and out of a slang-yiddish –but anyone with access to Google can likely understand his words if they fail to guess the context.

Mort is a very fearful man who is best described as middle-aged despite being only thirty-six years old. He is balding and has very curly red hair.

CASH EARNINGS THURSDAY

WENDY: $0 WEIGHTS: 0
JAMIE: $50 WEIGHTS: 0

“Oy vey iz mir, oh weh!” I said as I heard a tummel outside – I could hear my neighbors walking up the steps. I was so nervous. I had just known this day was going to come and now I was about to pay the piper for my transgressions against my neighbor.

I have always been a luftmensh with my head in the clouds dreaming. I could never have dreamt of this day – I had been naughty. I was a peeping tom and while I had managed to keep this secret it was obvious my neighbors knew I had been watching and were about to confront me – oi, I hate confrontation but I had been a fershtinkiner and this was my time to face the music.

I could hear them talking as they walked outside but not what was being said – it only increased my apprehension of what was to come.

Mrs. Taylor was nodding in agreement – most likely telling her husband all about me and confirming what I thought he already knew. She was dressed in a short skirt but it was somehow less revealing than normal and I knew that too was a sign she had come over to confront me.

I opened the door before they could knock. “Good day, I know why you are here, please do come in.” My wife was not home and I wanted to keep this from Loretta for as long as possible.

“Hello Sir,” there was no sarcasm in Wendy’s tone when she addressed me that way. I was used to being called sir in derision when someone was mocking me. I assumed she was being aloof and distant but I returned her greeting “Hello Ma’am”.

“You don’t have to call her Ma’am,” her son Chris spoke for her as if he was an authority. My own children do that to me too – walk all over me. Somehow I thought Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t stand for it but she let his words stand unchallenged.

Chris was a pudgy one but stocky. I am sure he could beat me to a pulp if he had a mind too so I just nodded in agreement and muttered ‘Slicha’ under my breath.

“Please do have a seat in my home,” I invited them into my living room. “My wife Lorretta is the Berryer, not me.” I realized that I had a tendency to slip into Yiddish when I got nervous and explained “Berryer means that she keeps the home nice,” I explained while shrugging awkwardly.

I had been studying the Torah and was suddenly aware of how off-putting my traditional furnishings might be to them. The Taylor’s had lived next to me for years and I had always avoided talking to them. I am just too timid to invite people over without first them inviting me over. I remember their blonde haired teenager when she was just a A maidel mit a vayndel – and now she had grown almost into a full grown woman.

They were everything I could not be – the white-bread, all American family that gets invited to all the community functions. “I would like a chance to explain before you say anything at all,” I offered to them. This seemed to confuse the Taylor’s and I thought it was good. It might defuse the situation before it got started.

“When you first moved into the neighborhood I noticed your wife’s shape and I have always admired it – from a respectful distance mind you.” I was aware of how nervous I must have sounded when my voice cracked more than usual. My palms were sweaty but I stood in front of them and admitted I am meshugah.

I instantly regretted offering my confession because all their eyes were staring at me and I had to continue.

“In the last few weeks I had noticed you and your daughter start wearing revealing clothing and I thought nothing of it. I mean it was at chamuda – um, err I mean to say it was good looking and cute” I was stumbling for words and skipping back and forth into Hebrew words was not helping. It was an old habit when I was bullied mercilessly in high school and Mr. Taylor looked like the kind of guy who would turn a nebbish like me upside down for a swirlie while wearing a football jersey back in those days.

I could see from the look on their faces they were not angry – perhaps I was winning them over. “So I was mowing my grass one day and I just happened to look over my fence.” I smiled and paused – I wondered if they were just letting me stew because they already knew what I had done and wanted to hear me repeat it.

The Taylor son asked “Why were you looking over your fence?”

I was all at once thankful for the question to give me something to focus on and put off by how direct he was. He had a grin on his face like he already knew my answer – at least the real reason that I had been peeping.

I breathed out and in rapidly to reduce my nervousness and said “Well that is where my apology comes in, you see I had no business looking into your yard but I happened to see your daughter and wife sunbathing and I looked. I mean I suppose I don’t know why I looked over the fence, but when I did I saw, well I mean, to say that I was curious because, Oh Gawd, I am so sorry.” I had no defense for my actions.

Bill Taylor just smiled very broadly and then his son followed but his wife stood there expressionless. He knew he had me right where he wanted me. I would do anything so that he not tell my wife Loretta of my transgressions.

“So you are probably here because of my being a peeping tom, but I honestly I did not start masturbating to it at first. I would not have but the way the two of them put lotion on. Oy, I will stop, I promise – I will just move away. Would that be sufficient for my violations?” I was almost weeping at this point when Bill laughed out loud at my offer.

I was already thinking about whether I would sell the house or just rent it out – it was helping to keep my mind off the beating I might get or the divorce if my wife finds out.

What recompense could he want? I had been staring at not only his wife but his teenage daughter with nothing but lust and malice and as low-cut as his wife’s shirt was – I was staring again.

“I am a weak, weak man - I admit it.” I blurted out. I knew it was only a matter of time before Bill’s meaty fists start flying at me. I absolutely hate violence but Bill just laughed.

“Do you mind that Mr. Goldman here jerked off to you and Ass face playing around in the yard?” Bill asked his wife as if she should be ashamed. I couldn’t believe the nerve of this man, I would never dare say this to any woman – much less my own beloved wife. I assumed Mrs. Taylor would not allow him to be that bold and I braced for her wrath and anguish towards us all.

She looked up at me and honestly answered “Not at all, I am flattered you thought enough of what you saw to be turned on by my daughter and I. We are here to apologize to you actually, Sir.” Just as sweetly as if she truly had not minded.

I was floored by what she said. I was too tongue tied and befuddled to offer a “You can’t really mean it” but I think she saw it on my face.

Her husband asked her condescendingly “We?” and she explained that it was only her who was here to apologize.

I needed a drink of water – I was relieved but I was Furtummelt. I felt embarrassed not only for being put on the spot and exposed as a peeping tom but for Mrs. Taylor. I admit I was also a bit curious as to how they could not be offended by my secret shame of watching her and her young daughter sunbathing.

“What have you to apologize about to me?” I sat down on the least comfortable chair in the room and crossed my legs nervously – to hide the rise of my pants. I always feel like a Jerry Lewis character when I get nervous because my New York accent becomes so much more pronounced as I grow increasingly uncomfortable.

“It was my husband’s idea that I visit each of my neighbors and apologize for being a bad neighbor for all these years. We are moving and I am also here to invite you to our moving sale.”

I became a little more skeptical – were they just buttering me up to come over and buy their used junk before they move?

“Is anyone else home? We don’t have a lot of time and I would like my wife to address your wife as well? Her name is Lola or something right?”

“Loretta,” I corrected him and mentioned she was at work. I had been laid off after fifteen years as a pharmacist and was reliant on my wife’s income now – it was not a story I wanted to mention to the Taylor’s since it was quite emasculating.

“Since you have already seen my wife naked, would it bother you if she disrobed and gave her apology that way?” Bill looked at his wife for a reaction but she just nodded in agreement with him.

“Do I look a gullible frier here? You are just toying with me – is that it?” is what I would have said if I wasn’t so flummoxed. I was instantly aware that I may be getting set up and Chris Hansen or someone would be walking in with the hidden camera any minute to haul me away for violating my neighbor’s privacy.

They wanted to see what kind of a pervert or shvuntz I was – if I’d actually want her to strip for me.

Bill could see my confusion and he explained. “Don’t worry, it is just that my wife got off easy at Dave Vogel’s house and he kept joking the entire time. She would benefit from delivering the apology to you without being able to hide behind her clothes – being disarmed and disrobed and since you have already seen her naked – It wouldn’t be offensive to you?”

I am no rube – I know swingers. There is a kibitzer named Mrs. Waxerman who lives in my neighborhood who goes around telling who is cheating on who and what couple is swinging with the other couple. The irony of the sanctimonious old lady is that she pretends to hate gossip while being the biggest offender. She never talks to me because she obviously does not like Jewish people but I’ve overheard enough rumors to know that it is not uncommon in this suburb that some couples swing that way.

Could that be what the Taylors were doing? But why bring their son?

“My wife would swing me around like a Kapparot the day before Yom Kippur if she caught a naked lady in our house,” I hated how timid I sounded when I squeaked out those words like a mouse. I could see that Bill looked offended and the woman relieved. “Besides, what of your son here?” I offered as a last minute excuse for being too intimidated to allow the woman I had fantasized so many times to undress.

“My son has seen me and his sister naked many times, Sir.” Wendy finally spoke when she realized her husband was not going to answer for her. “

I am not known for having much of a chin but if I had one – it would have hit the floor. I mean this metaphorically of course but I was aghast. My own son has never seen Loretta in a two piece bathing suit – thankfully.

I knew I was turning red faced and I nodded. I wanted desperately to rethink my initial refusal and give her permission to undress. I could see her bulbous melons under her half-top shirt and I wanted them out and bouncing – she was not wearing a bra and it was killing me to think she would be willing to show them to me in my living room.

The same room where I perform the Mishnah Berurah Yomit to study my faith.

She stood up and asked me if I was ready to hear her apology. This was all so unexpected – I just admitted that I had masturbated behind the fence to her and her daughter and she still wanted to apologize to me? I asked her out loud if she understood that.

“Yes Sir, I understand that. My daughter would not mind that you pleasured yourself to us in the yard. There are other neighbors who have too.” She admitted and I have to admit –this made me hard just thinking I wasn’t the only one and she knew.

“May I ask where is your daughter now? Is she going to apologize as well?” the question seemed to make Wendy uncomfortable. I quickly shifted gears and walked it back “Naturally, I don’t expect her to come here or have to say anything to me. I am not saying she has to apologize, I mean she is a teenager, and there is no reason a man of my age should be talking to one - I mean or looking at one, and certainly not naked, I mean...” I was fumbling.

“Tell him where she is, Cow Tits”. Bill spoke very sharply to his wife. I couldn’t believe she let him address her that way. I would never say such a thing to my Loretta but then again – hers are more like goat tits than cow tits – especially since she has a little hair on her chin. Mrs Taylor stood in front of me with her hands behind her back – as if she were at attention. I have to admit – she intimidated me with her full figure and the way she stood unwaveringly while I remained craven and timid.

“She is a little tied up right now, Sir” the look on Wendy’s face showed she was as uncomfortable or searching for the right words despite how stoically she stood before me. The tension in the room was palpable.

“No!” Bill Taylor corrected his wife “You did that at Dave Vogel’s house – the song and dance. You were not explicit or completely honest in your answers and unless you want to get a spanking right here – you will tell him exactly where your daughter is.” Bill’s voice was forceful but not harsh.

“She is tied up behind a motel, Sir.” Wendy didn’t hesitate but she could not even look at me. I was used to that in high school when I finally worked up the courage to ask a girl I had been obsessing about for months. I would never have ever dared to ask one as beautiful as Wendy – and they would always look down when they were about to hurt my feelings and tell me in no uncertain terms that whatever night I was asking to go out on they already had plans. She had that ‘I want to be anywhere else’ look in her eyes that was so familiar but there was also something different about it – something delicious.

It took me a few moments to finally process what she had said. It sounded so normal that it might have been she was at soccer practice or temple. I repeated her words as a question “Tied up BEHIND a motel?” as the words finally sunk in to me.

“Well, if we tied her up in front of the motel too many cars would honk as they drove past,” Chris chuckled about his sister. It was obviously a joke but I did not get it and I wasn’t sure if it would be creepy if I laughed too. I gave him my half-smile – the kind I reserve for when I think I am supposed to laugh and I don’t want to commit to a full guffaw.

“You tie up your sister?” I was strangely turned on by the idea of someone tying up their own sister. My sister Angela is married to a dentist in Long Island and would never have let anyone tie her up – unless it was some kind of Spa day. I’ve heard about sex parties and bondage but I don’t even dare Google search it – for fear Loretta may find my activities on the internet.

“Well, we can’t have her running around loose and getting up to mischief all day at the motel without supervision.” Chris just smiled back at me as if this coy response would answer the near dozens of questions now forming in my head. This was some sort of practical joke is all that I could think of the chutzpah of this young man to say this in front of his parents.

Wendy nodded in agreement and added “I was there yesterday, I guess it was her turn today, Sir.”

I instinctively found myself putting a book over my lap to hide my growing erection. There is an old phrase in the Goldman family “Ven der putz shteht, ligt der sechel in drerd.” It basically means when the penis stands up – the brains get buried.

I was afraid mine were getting buried. I had at first thought they were here to confront me and then I thought perhaps they were toying me – now my skepticism was fading.

“Listen, if it would make you more comfortable to do your apology in the nude, then I am not one to complain.” It was the least passive-aggressive way I could revisit the idea of Mrs. Taylor removing her clothes without actually suggesting she do it.

She smiled at me as if understanding I was actually asking her to get naked and obliging me. She stepped out of her skirt first. I was surprised – I would think a woman would take her shoes off or her shirt but she seemed to have practiced this and bent at the waist to fold her clothes – despite being right in front of her son when she did.

I had seen her tattoo many times and wondered about it. I could now read it – I am so far sighted and near sighted that even with glasses I could never make out more than a blur. It clearly said WH and RE on each cheek with elaborate penis and provocative flourishes in the tattoo.

I was now fully aroused.

“He wants to see your tattoo dear,” Bill reminded his wife with a mock sweetness.

She was fully naked and had folded her clothes neatly. She did not hesitate to turn around and bend over for me to see it – she was certainly not shy.

“WH is your initials from your maiden name?” I asked about what I assumed was a monogram of initials on her ass cheeks. I sounded awkward and I noticed her big tits were bouncing as she bent over to press her nose to the ground.

Then with her legs apart and her body leaned forward, she pulled her cheeks apart and revealed a lemon wedged squarely in her asshole. I could only dream of anal sex with Loretta – such things one does not ask of a woman like Loretta even as a favor.

Here was Mrs. Taylor holding her most private and sacred body part open and wide apart as if she were displaying a trophy – and what a lovely trophy it was.

I still had no idea what she was trying to tell me until her husband told her to say it out loud.

“It says Whore Sir, the tattoo. The O is in the center.” I noticed she had consistently called me sir every time she had spoken to me. I wondered why but I wanted to save that question while I looked at the lemon. It took almost thirty seconds for me to finally make out the red O outlining her asshole. She had been pushing the lemon slightly in and out with her sphincter muscles – most impressive.

I swallowed. I swallowed again – I was truly intimidated to the point of silence. I kept thinking the prayer “Who clothes the naked?” and being thankful that no one was.

I should not be having such dirty and perverted thoughts – but I just could not help it. I felt guilty and at the same time intensely aroused and excited about what I was seeing and what might happen next.

“Would you like me to deliver my apology this way or have you seen enough of my tattoo, Sir?” Wendy sounded sweet – but how could she with a strange man staring at her ass?

“Far, far, ff-far” I stammered. “Far from it, I would not tell you to stand that way,” I collected my thoughts and added “unless you want too. Can I ask what the lemon is doing there without sounding too forward?”

“You better be turtling that lemon and popping that pussy, Cow Tits!” Chris interrupted his mother.

“I am Sir,” she admitted to him before replying to me. “It is my lunch, Sir” Wendy didn’t change positions – she kept winking the lemon at me and sucking it back in slightly with her ass muscles as if teasing me with it.

“IF you are good,” her son teased her. His tone of voice was playful like he talked like this all the time.

“If I am good and obedient, yes sir.” She agreed with him.

“Can I ask why just a lemon?” This entire thing was so ludicrous that it was absurd. I wanted to say that but I was too flabbergasted to open my mouth.

“Yes sir, I wasted a lot of our money and we are out of groceries, so the men are being generous and letting me have the lemon if I earn it and behave.”

“Oh you are hungry? I should have put out something to nosh!” I was suddenly aware I had no finger foods or snacks to offer them.

Mrs. Taylor looked up at her husband who seemed to be calling the shots and he gave her a stern look. “No Sir, I am not permitted to eat, thank you for being so generous. I am sure my son and husband would love to have something, thank you for asking!”

I was mesmerized by this beautiful woman’s clit and ass displayed before me. I could see just the tiniest hint of moisture glistening on her pussy lips like honey. I could see a piercing on her nipples and a chain hung down around her pussy. Her body reminded me of a zaftig harem girl – plump in all the right places with curves and lean muscles and tan skin.

“Did your um,” I was going to get the snacks but at the same time I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman and didn’t want to go just yet. “Did the tattoos and piercings hurt?”

I don’t know why I asked that – I was just making up conversation I think in order to keep talking –and looking.

“No, it felt like tiny unicorns licking her asshole,” her vulgar teenager son joked. His father glanced at him and he stopped giggling and Bill made Wendy answer.

“Yes sir, it hurt very much to have my clit and nipples pierced and it feels like a constant ant-bite teasing and tormenting me on my most sensitive places. The tattoo hurt when we were getting them, but it was worth it to prove my devotion to my family and my place in it.”

Bill reached out his hand and pet her head. Her husband abruptly plunged his finger in her mouth – she began to suck as if it was a reward for what she had just said.

“I thought I saw you with a tattoo out in the yard, but I never knew what it said. When you say we have tattoos, I am assuming everyone in the family has something?” I was a little more poised as I asked my follow up question and had stopped stumbling over my words as I grew a little more confident that she would not snap my head off for dreaming of plunging my own finger or schemckel even into her juicy mouth.

Mr. Taylor pulled his finger out abruptly while she was sucking for her to answer. “Just the women of the house have tattoos sir. My daughter has the exact same one - it was her idea.”

She had a small lead chain dangling on her clit, smudged words in magic marker on her body and a pink dog collar on. It was suddenly dawning on me how intensely arousing seeing this woman debase and humiliate herself was – and how much I craved more of it- so much so that I forgot all about the snacks.

“The other words written on you what did they say?”

“For Black Cock Only” above my piss flaps sir, because today I am only allowed to let black men use my cunt.” I could detect a subtle defiance in Wendy’s voice that turned me on – she may have been submitting to me but there was this underlying strength and confidence that made it all the sweeter that she continue to do so.

“I am the mentsh of all the days to visit then, I guess that rules me out.” I laughed – I was being passive aggressive. I knew they were letting me see her this way but in my wildest imagination I didn’t dare touch or try for more.

“My other holes can be used if my owners approve, Sir” Wendy offered sweetly.

My eyes lit up but Bill grunted “Not so fast, slut. You are to do the apology before you start trying to fuck your way out of it!”

He stood up and slapped her ass cheek hard and she didn’t even flinch – she only agreed with a hearty “Yes Sir, I am sorry – that was not my intention.”

He slapped it again “Don’t’ defend your slutty actions. We all heard your little kitty-kat plea to get Mr. Goldman interested in fucking. You want another weight added right now? I have your old one in my pocket.”

“If you think that would be an appropriate way to keep me in line, then yes Master I do.” Wendy didn’t sound the least bit scared by his threat – almost inviting it.

“Where are my manners, I should get the nosh,” I found myself sniffling with nasal drip because I had suddenly become uncomfortable by the intensity of the couple in front of their son - I avoid confrontation at all costs.

“Cow tits, Follow him and see if he needs help carrying back the food. Try to do that without fucking up,” Chris barked at his mother and she answered ‘Yes Sir’.

I noticed she was following me naked on her hands and knees right at my heel like a puppy as I entered my kitchen.

“Mrs. Taylor this is an amusing charade, but please get off the floor,” I insisted on helping her stand and asked “Won’t the tile just kill your knees?”

“Thank you Sir,” she took my hand and for the first time I felt her warm yet soft skin touch my white, pasty, weak hand and I almost shuddered. There was a raw sexuality about her completely naked and uninhibited in my kitchen. “I’ve had a lot of practice on my knees – I’ve built up quite a callous, sir.” she smiled and seemed a little less formal with me – despite continuing to call me sir.

I opened the fridge and started to look for some cold blintzes we bought at Schotzer’s Deli. I love those little thin egg pancakes wrapped around a sweet mixture of farmer's cheese. They tuck the ends in and fry them in butter – they would be perfect with a smear of sour cream if only I could find it.

“Do you want a blintz?” I offered as I bent over the fridge. I felt a little guilty staring at her nudity with her standing right next to me alone. I know that sounds odd since I had already seen so much of her intimate parts but she was standing so close to me in the kitchen – it intimidated me.

“I don’t think I am allowed to have one, Sir. Can you ask my husband and son if I can when we get back out to the living room?” Mrs. Taylor asked me politely. She looked reluctant like one of Bubby Tilda trying to stay true to her diet when confronted with chocolate.

I looked over my shoulder at her as I took some grape juice from the fridge to fill some glasses. “Mrs. Taylor, I noticed you let your son call you a dirty name,” I didn’t know where I was going with that – but I did not dare say ‘Cow Tits’ out loud. I am just not wired to be that vulgar in front of women or anyone.

“Cow Tits?” she smiled at me openly.

“Yes, I think that is the one,” I couldn’t return her gaze and keep eye contact - I just couldn’t after she said those words.

“That is my name now Sir, you can call me that as well,” Mrs. Taylor sounded encouraging. “They call me that because I wasted a lot of our money on fake boobs and because I’ve been producing a lot of milk on a daily basis now, like a cow.” She almost sounded proud of herself.

I dropped the platter with the blintzes and grape juice and it clattered and clanged on the floor into a giant mess. “A kapporre!” I covered my mouth aghast at my mistake.

Wendy instantly dropped to her knees to start cleaning it up and telling me it would be okay while I stood there picturing the white milk bursting forth from those giant, perfectly formed orbs on her chest.

When I was but a bouncing yolek, I remember I had a nurse maid who breast fed me until I was about seven years old. I came to realize later that this was not the normal time to wean off children but I also grew to love the taste on a regular basis. The suckling and my nurse maid grew to be my tsutcheppenis in teen years when I would masturbate. She was very lovely and healthy and ate only kosher-foods at my parent’s request as my nurse maid. I hadn’t thought about her in so many years but now that I had – I was well aware of how arousing the idea of breast feeding could actually be.

“You are nursing a yolek of your own – a baby?” I corrected myself. Mrs. Taylor would have no idea what any of my Yiddish means. I was standing uselessly as she cleaned up the mess waiting for her answer and staring at her creamy thighs and how beautiful yet wild her brown hair looked.

Her Husband yelled from the living room “Stop stalling you lazy cunt, I heard the dishes drop. You WILL be punished for that.”

She didn’t answer me right away. Instead she looked down at the floor for a moment and took a deep breath and then answered sweetly “Yes Sir, thank you for correcting my behavior. It was my fault. We are just cleaning up the mess I made now.”

“I dropped the dishes” I told her quietly. I don’t know why I felt the need to lower my voice myself so Mr. Taylor couldn’t hear. Okay – I do, I am a coward and Mr. Taylor scares the crap out of me.

“I startled you, Sir by asking you to call me Cow Tits if you want too and telling you what it means while you were carrying the platter. I should have been carrying it. In our house, the men rule and the women serve. I am sorry, I can’t let you take the blame for my mistake.” Mrs. Taylor had just about picked up everything with her fingers and was washing them in the sink.

“How are they going to punish you?” I asked still keeping my voice low – it just seemed like I should keep hushed.

“To answer your first question, I am not pregnant and don’t have a baby but I do have to milk myself several times a day or else my nipples become engorged and very sore, Sir.” she smiled at me and waited for that to sink in. I stared at her nipples – they looked sore and engorged now so I could only imagine what she considered even sorer and engorged than the big fat ringed nipples heaving on her chest.

“I don’t know how they are going to punish me, Sir. I’ve learned not to anticipate but to admit my faults, apologize for them and accept the judgment of my betters, Sir.” She chose her words very carefully as if she had been reciting something she had practiced saying several times before – she was becoming more formal with me.

“You wouldn’t make a very good Jew then. We learn to deny any wrong doing and then feel intense guilt from childhood,” I laughed at my joke but she didn’t seem to understand that I was trying to be conciliatory.

“I used to do that all the time Sir, and that is why things got so out of hand in our family and extreme measures are being used to correct my behavior.” She blinked at me with a sort of innocence that was mesmerizing before asking “Do you have any other snacks to bring out?”

“Nothing really no, I have these krembo. They are just crème filled marshmallows – they will have to do. I also got some tap water. ” I felt like an awkward Jerry Lewis kibitzing around my own kitchen in one of his comedic panics.

“May I carry those out Sir? You can ask them how they will punish me and I am sure they will like it if you watched?” She seemed to be offering me permission to watch with how her eyes hinted that it was also alright with her – even though her words said she had given the choice up.

“If I call you Cow Tits, will you tell Loretta?” I handed her a small cutting board I used to put the glasses on.

“If I am asked I would have to be honest, Sir. I am no longer permitted to be deceptive or misleading or sugar coat things.”

I walked her back out to the living room and when she set down the tray she served each of us our drink with the glass of water clenched between her tits as if she had been practicing bending at the waist over the table and releasing it without spilling.

“Good pet tricks won’t get you out of punishment, you know that?” Bill didn’t seem impressed – but I was floored.

“Yes Sir,” Wendy stood before her husband with her hands on her ass and bent over. “I apologize for taking too long to bring back the food and it dropping was my fault as well Sir, I accept whatever punishment the males of the house feel is appropriate and humbly submit myself to it.”

“Actually, I was the one who dropped the platter though,” In all fairness I couldn’t let Mrs. Taylor take the fall for my zhlubbing around.

“He dropped it because I told him why you call me Cow Tits and it shocked him, Sir. That was my fault.” Mrs. Taylor put the focus back on herself – some people you just cannot help if they don’t want it.

“Why do we call you Cow Tits then?” Bill said to his wife.

“To remind me of my vanity for buying the fake tits to enhance my career and because I have to milk myself several times a day or my nipples become sore and engorged like a cow, Sir.” She said dutifully.

“Shouldn’t those big titties of yours remain sore and engorged?” Bill asked his wife – there was a cat and mouse interplay between the two that was satisfying to watch.

“Yes Sir, and they are, but I appreciate when you permit me to milk myself, thank you for that.”

“Always you, you, you and your comfort and pleasure, what about me or your son or Mr. Goldman?” Bill asked her.

“You all come first, you are males and I am just a dumb cunt sir,” Mrs. Taylor was so base in her vocabulary that it turned me on and scared me at the same time.

I remember hearing the granddaughter or niece or whoever it was of Mrs. Waxerman the other day yelling for her brothers to ‘eat a dick’ as she chased them down the street in anger. The woman of today’s age are a lot more willing to use vulgar language.

Then again my Loretta is probably the same age as Mrs. Taylor and she would never in a million years let me keep my manhood if I had dared to call her some of the things Mr. Taylor has said about his own wife.

I felt like such a schmendrick as Bill commanded his wife like a general and I thought of how hen pecked I was by not only my wife but everyone I have ever met or known. I just give off the vibe of well – a schmendrick.

“You have apologized to me, now apologize to Chris and we’ll come up with your punishment.” Bill ordered his wife to move over to her son. She crawled over on all fours.

“Mom, mom, this is silly,” he sounded sensible and considerate as he took his mom by the hand and stood her up.

“Do jumping jacks so we can see your big floppy boobies bounce, there is no reason to waste time on all fours, you dumb cow.” He grinned evilly as he played with his mom.

Mrs. Taylor actually smiled at him coyly as if she knew he was just setting her up with false kindness and this was a game they played. She stood and began doing naked jumping jacks in my living room – and I was impressed. Her ass and tits bounced while the rest of her tight body formed a perfect X and then her hands and legs collapsed straight again in perfect rhythm.

“Let’s go a little faster, and make with the apology,” Chris leaned back on the couch with his hands behind his head leisurely like a natural shaygets.

“I am so, so sorry I’ve ruined your snacks Sir, and took too long to get them. That was inconsiderate of me, I will try to be a better mother and slut for you, Sir!” when Wendy said these words I think it was the taboo nature of this relationship and just how brazen she was that caused my dick to become rock hard and I sat up.

Chris obviously noticed because he smiled at me and told me ‘right on’. Then he ordered his mom to face me and keep doing jumping jacks until told otherwise.

“Cow Tits, You can tell him what you did wrong and ask if he minds if we punish you right now, for being a bad neighbor too.” Chris was amused with his power and seemed pleased I was so impressed with whatever arrangement he had with his mother to put her under his control. I looked at his father to see if his father disapproved – if he did, he said nothing.

“You can make her keep doing jumping jacks, or have her assume any position you would like to see her grovel in,” Chris told me. I looked at him with a thankful look on my face but I didn’t know what to say.

“Which um, position do you prefer to be in when you give your apologies, Mrs. Taylor?” I was still too nervous to really do this right and when I heard my own voice sounding like a pisher it only made me wish it wasn’t my turn to talk.

She continued doing jumping jacks right in front of me without losing her breath. She must really be in shape, I could do about three and just plotz. “I do not have a preference Sir, whatever you would like me to do, would be fine”. There was a hint of annoyance or perhaps confusion that I could detect that I didn’t seem to know what I was doing.

I would imagine it is how a horse feels when the rider has absolutely no idea how to steer one, or whatever it is called when you try to drive them around at the dude ranch- I have no idea.

“You sound like Doctor Zoidberg, you know who that is?” Chris laughed his question to me while his mother continued her exercises in front of me.

“I have no idea, does he work in dentistry? I may have an Uncle Zoidberg,” I told him and I guess my straight face made him laugh even harder. I made a mental note to google that name since it didn’t ring a bell.

“Well, do the normal one you do, I guess” I told her and she stopped her jumping jacks with a sharp finishing movement and then got down on her hands and knees and removed my house slippers.

“I have to warn you, I’ve not had a pedicure in many years” I could tell she was a little put off by my feet but without too much hesitation she started to lick my big toe – and let me tell you that is all I needed. I thought I would cum right then – she could suck it like a cock in a way that Loretta would never do.

“Kissing my feet is necessary?” I asked.

“Yes Sir, if I am to give my apology the way I normally do,” she looked up at me and opened her mouth wrapping her tongue seductively around each of my toes as if worshipping them.

“I should never have startled you by telling you my name when you were holding all of that food.”

“You really want me to call you Cow Tits though?” I was intensely riding a wave of pleasure and the less I thought about how surreal this situation was and tried to over-think things the more natural my responses became.

“If you wish Sir, Mrs. Taylor was a name of respect and as you can see, I am not worthy of that. It is an uppity name for a total bitch and feeds my vanity, calling me Cow tits reinforces my place. I cannot tell you what to do and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” The way she cooed the word ‘uncomfortable’ played on just how comfortable I was. I was lost in the slick and soft feel as she slurped my toes and kissed and caressed my feet.

“I wasted valuable food and drink with my behavior, Sir.” she looked up at me from the ground – her tits were pressed into my carpet and her ass was raised up high and pointed at her husband’s chair. “I came over here to apologize for being such a bad and thoughtless neighbor. We,” she stopped herself and corrected “It was my obligation to have invited you over and to get to know you in the years we’ve lived here, and I never once did, Sir.”

“Oh that is quite alright, Cow tits.” I tried the words gingerly – cow tits just did not sound right coming from my mouth.

“I was thoughtless and insensitive and set a poor example of female behavior for my daughter.” she apologized while caressing and kissing my feet tenderly – oy the bliss and the joy.

“Groveling and behaving this way is the proper example to your daughter Jamie?” I realized after I said it that it sounded judgmental.

“Yes Sir, accepting my shortcomings and being corrected for them is the proper place of females in the Taylor household. Ass face has learned just as I have that our selfish pride and vanity has kept us from behaving as a proper family and put us directly in the situation we are in.”

“Her name IS Ass Face like yours is Cow Tits?” it sounded a little more natural the second time I said it – an hour ago I don’t think I could have said that out loud even when I am badad – all by myself.

“Yes Sir, I am not allowed to refer to myself as Wendy and she doesn’t call herself Jamie. We’ve accepted the nicknames we were given, and the authority of the men of the house – The rules have changed in how we live a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but they change back in a week,” Chris sounded disappointed.

“Oh? Do you switch roles and your mom gets to take charge of you?” I mused at the mental image of the Taylor men having to grovel and be subservient like their Nafka of a mother. I have to admit my imagination lit up at the idea of them in dog collars and naked on the floor –with Mrs. Taylor getting even for them mocking and laughing at her while she shook her ass for them.

“We already did that, it is one reason Cow tits and Ass face are doing this. They did it to us first!” Chris was suddenly very serious and grim. I had no idea whether to believe him but at the same time – no reason to disbelieve him considering the very kinky and severe relationship they had.

“It’s true sir and it is one of the many mistakes I made that led up to this. I just wanted to make the two of them appreciate the work we did around the house and when I had my husband and son in a vulnerable position I took advantage of the power, Sir.”

She was still licking my foot and I did not want her to stop making love to it. I wanted her to come up higher to my schlong which I no longer made any secret of it being totally hard but I didn’t dare say it. I felt like she probably would but I was just too painfully shy.

“You’ve got to tell me how this came to be!” I insisted.

Their condition was they punish Mrs. Taylor (Cow Tits) while she told in detail everything that had happened up to this point.

They had her squat so that her knees touched her elbows and then they told her to put the lemon in her mouth to clean it before setting it down where she could see it.

I soon came to realize that Cow Tits was under what I knew to be Baal Teshuvah. The concept of reward and punishment is central to this – for transgressions of the soul and the spirit.

She waited for them to decide her punishment and they talked about her as if she were not in the room. They asked her if this turned her on and she admitted she was wet but that it was not the discussion that had done it.

“Bullshit,” Bill announced and after Chris and him had discussed slapping, biting even making her squat over a cactus my Aunt Rose had sent me from Arizona until she sat upon it I told them meekly that I had an idea.

I told them what I thought of Cow Tits and the Baal Teshuvah she was under. “The baal teshuvah is a person lost in the desert whose thirst, amplified a thousandfold by the barrenness and aridity of his surroundings, drives him to seek water with an intensity that could never have been called forth by the most proficient welldigger. She seeks punishment and as it is my home if they would permit me to administer a Hebrew traditional punishment.”

This pleased the men to know end and Wendy agreed to it – without even knowing what it would be.

Chris at first questioned what I could possibly know about bondage.

“Are you kidding, my people were kept in bondage by the Egyptians thousands of years ago. We know a lot about it.” I personally didn’t but I thought it was funny none the less.

“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” I had heard that somewhere – I think from my own father when I was a child.

I happened to have two twin flails – metal balls that are hung from chains. I told her to hold the sharp flails in both hands.

The other men wanted her to put them in her ass and ‘cunt’ – a thought that hadn’t occurred to me until after I told her to hold them tightly. I didn’t want to let on like I wasn’t making this up as I went and so insisted she squeeze them tightly and not let go.

“I have something better for that,” I went into the kitchen and returned with my bubby’s antique porcelain finished rolling pin. It had been in the family for over eighty years and I am sure it had only ever been used to bake pies.

“Can you fit this into your cunt, Cow Tits?” I held it up for Cow Tits to see. I was still feeling awkward about my vulgarity but it was coming a little more naturally. She said “Yes Sir, my cunt has been stretched to take things longer and wider than even that if you allow me to work it in.”

“That is exactly what this is used for, would one of you do the honors?” I handed the rolling pin to Bill because I was afraid to be so forward as to put it in myself.

“Are you sure this doesn’t go in the ass?” He asked me as he admired the weight and heft of it.

“That is EXACTLY where it goes,” I lied. They didn’t question it. Bill spat upon his wife’s bare asshole and without ceremony slammed the pin and worked in part of the roller up his wife’s sphincter. I winced but she actually thanked him for spitting first as if that had been more generous than she expected.

“Is that far enough in?” Bill asked me.

“Can you get it in further?” I replied without even thinking.

“How far do the women in your family normally take the rolling pin up their ass, Mr. Goldman?” Chris asked me skeptically.

“Just get it in as far as you can, and I will be right back,” I fled the room because I thought I was turning red with embarrassment that they were questioning my ‘traditional Hebrew punishment’.

I have to admit though – once again my imagination woke up as I pictured my Bubby as a young woman in the 1940s taking the rolling pin in her tuckus in the living room for some transgression of faith while the rest of the family looked on.

I slowed my breathing and calmed down while I searched for something for Mrs. Taylors vagina – which they insisted she call a cunt. I came back with a metal strainer – a colander. The mesh wire seemed like it would hurt a bit if she pressed her pussy lips down on it.

I set it under where she was squatting and told her she would have to slowly bounce up and down on that. I saw that the guys didn’t seem too impressed with how hard my sentence for her was. I added “If the Schlockputz drops out of your tuchas, then you have to Gai kukken afen yam”.

That roughly translated to “If the cheaply made dildo drops out of your ass, then you have to go shit in the ocean.” I had hoped that if I added a few words in traditional Yiddish to what I was doing it would seem like I knew what I was talking about.

They both nodded and Chris added “So if it drops out of her tuchas, what does she have to do?”

“Start over,” I cleared my throat as I made up another stipulation.

“That is it?” he sounded disappointed.

“Another male gets to stick it back in, and he has to pack it harder and tighter this time.” That addition made them a little happier.

“We don’t get to cum in her hair or slap her while we do this or anything like that?” Chris was still skeptical.

I picked up the marshmallow krembo that I had brought in as a nosh. “We throw this at her open mouth and she has to catch them.”

“This is a traditional Hebrew punishment?” Bill rightly sounded skeptical.

“No, it isn’t” I said with a very straight face. “In Israel, they use donkey dreck but we don’t have any of that.” I lied and I must admit I liked the esteem the Taylor men held me in. Mrs. Taylor who had already stoically begun bouncing slowly on the upside down steel-wire colander actually looked nervous as she glanced up at me. I would love to have been inside her mind as she pictured us making her do that.

“Has your wife ever been punished this way?” Mr. Taylor asked. I wished they wouldn’t let me keep lying myself into a deeper and deeper hole.

“No not in the traditional way,” I said and when I saw their disappointment. I tossed the marshmallow candy at Mrs. Taylor’s face where it hit her cheek and fell to the ground. “Just with the krembos, kosher donkey feces is far too expensive to import, but I do know a guy if you are interested in getting it wholesale.” I was half-joking about that last part and they both laughed.

“What do we do with the krembo that fall to the ground?” Chris tossed one at the back of his mother’s head with no intention of hitting her mouth before demanding she “Try harder, you dumb cow, hold your fat mouth open.”

I honestly had no idea what we should do with the krembo that fell on the ground. I didn’t think eating it was an option.

“I get this punishment, it would be given to women who gossip and flap their mouths telling lies and being prideful?” Bill Taylor said as he tossed the first krembo to actually reach his wife’s mouth. It hit the back of her throat and caused her to choke for a second before chewing and swallowing.

I nodded that it was and answered Chris “Traditionally the children of the house collect them and return them to the elders who pay them each a copper coin for their service,” I thought I might as well play to the stereotype of my people.

“Can we just make her pick them up with her mouth after we run out and then deliver them to us one by one so we can throw more at her?” Chris suggested.

I would find that Chris’s suggestions were always much better than anything I could come up with and it made sense to agree that “This time it would be okay to do,” as if there would be a next time.

I wasn’t sure if there would be a next time or not, but I wanted there to be.

“So, tell me how you enslaved these two men and brought shande on to the Taylor family?”

I tossed another krembo and smiled as she swallowed it quickly so that she could tell me the story (Family Feud I) about how her and ‘Ass Face’ had conspired to write the “Taylor Women’s Declaration of Independence” and the events that led up to her forcing them to masturbate in front of her in mason jars.

I had started to wish I had suggested that we be able to masturbate in her hair as the story continued while we watch her bounce on the strainer and hold that tuchas pin with all her strength.