At work she always dressed to the nines. Heels were never lower than 4” and her form fitting skirts, although “appropriate” (one of her favorite words), were always slightly above her knee. She often wore sleeveless blouses or dresses to show off her fit arms. In the office generally, and in meetings in particular, she reveled in the male attention lavished upon her and looked down at her female colleagues all of whom were intimidated by her haughtiness and domineering nature – “losers,” she would think to herself, “all of them.”

She simply delighted in teasing men, leaving them hard and speechless, by always reminding them what they couldn't have. It wasn't uncommon for her, after teasing a colleague at work, or a soccer dad at one of her kid’s games, to then loudly and publicly chide him with a, “perhaps if you spent less time staring at me and more paying attention to the task at hand . . . ” type comment. She would make sure that everyone around knew she did not approve of this “inappropriate” behavior. Of course, on the inside she arrogantly delighted not only in her power over men but even more so in how by shaming them she was also humiliating their wives – “fat pigs – they wish they were half as hot as I.” Suffice it to say the women in her neighborhood as well as those at work despised her.

While Danielle detested having to meet weekly with the gaggle of 11 year-old mischief makers that were the 10 boys in the den, the only event left for the season was the big Cub Scout meeting to celebrate the 235th anniversary of the nation’s founding. After she got them through that she’d be able to claim success, brag about how she saved the scouts from the incompetent and inappropriate Mrs. Emma Duncan, and gracefully bow out.

Admiring herself again in the mirror as she prepared for the big event she couldn't help but gloat. She stood in her 4.5” blue stilettos wearing only a tiny, sheer “cub scout blue” thong bikini (with a yellow bobcat stenciled on the crotch) and an equally sheer yellow push-up bra designed to emphasize her already sizeable bosom. Before putting on her skirt, blouse and jacket she fastened the yellow Cub Scout scarf around her neck and put the blue den mother’s beret on her head. She smirked inwardly as she thought about how all of the loser dads in the audience would kill to see her looking like this but never would and how their pathetic wives could only dream about stirring that type of desire in a man -- she simply loved herself. With that she put on her sleeveless, fitted, button up yellow blouse and her wrap around blue pleated uniform skirt. After topping it off with a bolero style uniform jacket she looked completely the vision of officialdom and authority.
Leading her ten scouts into the local high school gym, she walked with a little extra sway in her hips to make sure everyone knew she was queen bee. The gym was teeming with about three hundred people -- from the 70 or so scouts, to their parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters, to local politicians and, finally, to some local TV news teams that had come to cover the big event.

Finally it was time for the last skit, where Emma Duncan’s den would reenact Washington crossing the Delaware. As the boys started making their way across the floor holding a paper boat at their sides, the kids from the Battle of Bunker Hill (who were now bored to tears) decided it would be fun to throw some “cannon balls” into the mix. All at once it was Bedlam. Poor Emma Duncan who had already been humiliated once at a Cub Scout meeting was apoplectic. She bounded from her seat into the fray as her boys (and she) got pelted by the tennis balls.

Meanwhile, Danielle was rolling her eyes at the inappropriate nature of the entire scene. “Savages,” she thought to herself. That said, she knew she couldn't let this mayhem continue and had to do something. Having taken off her jacket earlier, she decided it was time to march out into this mess and restore some order before that foolish cow Emma Duncan caused any more trouble. What she didn't realize was that sitting right beneath her chair her son Will had somehow managed to get his toy Kentucky rifle from the Boston Tea party skit up the side of his mom’s pleated skirt.

Of course, the debacle of the skirmishing boys had gone on unabated and as Danielle turned around one of the boys accidentally took Emma Duncan’s legs out from under her. As Danielle began to scream, “what the hell do you think YOU’RE doing,” poor Emma began her fall and, instinctively reaching out to stop herself, caught the lapels of Danielle’s fitted yellow blouse which gave way both in the front and back before tearing completely off. There for all to see was the arrogant, know-it-all, tease – Danielle Parnell – wearing only her blue high heels, tiny blue thong, sheer yellow push-up bra, Cub Scout scarf and beret.

Gone was any hope of propriety, any hint of arrogance. As cell phones, cameras and the local news recorded her humiliation for posterity, all Danielle could muster was a stunned, daffy look on her once smug face. That is until Emma Duncan, who by now had gotten to her feet, gave Danielle a slap on her perfect ass. Awakened from the trance of humiliation, the last anyone saw of Mrs. Parnell was her running in her high heels, bra and thong panties toward the exit door of the gym – Will’s mom had come undone.

Thanks for appreciating it. I think as far as it goes this particular story is done. Scratching my head about whether to bring more shame the character's way.

Bravo on this story, especially liked the choice of clothes and the way her shoes and thong matched but her bra didn't something in me could just imagine the contrast and smiled. Only wished it could of been longer and a full ENF story but this is a fantastic taster for what I am hoping will turn into a wonderful series.

Nice to hear a bit of back story and also nice to hear you might make more excellent work mate.

Danielle Parnell looked at herself in the mirror. At 43, from ample time in the gym and great genetics, she looked fantastic. Standing only 5'2" she had legs that seemed those of a super model – firm, toned and leading to a fantastic heart-shaped ass. Her tiny waist and toned abs were a perfect complement to her pert 34C breasts. With green eyes and shoulder length brown hair she simply oozed sex appeal. The problem was – she knew it. And more than that, she loved that others knew it and loved lording it over them.

The lawyer and mother of three was one of those women who turned up her nose at her idyllic neighborhood’s non-working moms. Each year she would count the days until the neighborhood pool opened and then, after many of the other families had already arrived, would make a grand entrance in her high wedge heels, a cover up, a wide brimmed hat, sunglasses and the season’s most fashionable bikini – respectable but planned with the purpose of making fathers (and their sons) drool and mothers seethe – she loved it. What’s more, while she would knowingly tease the men, if any of them as much as attempted to reciprocate she would give them a withering look and then loudly lecture them about their inappropriate behavior. It was that part she loved the most, leaving men tongue tied and humiliated and implying to their wives that if they took better care of themselves their husbands’ eyes wouldn't wander.

At work she always dressed to the nines. Heels were never lower than 4” and her form fitting skirts, although “appropriate” (one of her favorite words), were always slightly above her knee. She often wore sleeveless blouses or dresses to show off her fit arms. In the office generally, and in meetings in particular, she reveled in the male attention lavished upon her and looked down at her female colleagues all of whom were intimidated by her haughtiness and domineering nature – “losers,” she would think to herself, “all of them.”

Admiring herself again in the mirror as she prepared for the big event she couldn't help but gloat. She stood in her 4.5” blue stilettos wearing only a tiny, sheer “cub scout blue” thong bikini (with a yellow bobcat stenciled on the crotch) and an equally sheer yellow push-up bra designed to emphasize her already sizeable bosom. Before putting on her skirt, blouse and jacket she fastened the yellow Cub Scout scarf around her neck and put the blue den mother’s beret on her head. She smirked inwardly as she thought about how all of the loser dads in the audience would kill to see her looking like this but never would and how their pathetic wives could only dream about stirring that type of desire in a man -- she simply loved herself. With that she put on her sleeveless, fitted, button up yellow blouse and her wrap around blue pleated uniform skirt. After topping it off with a bolero style uniform jacket she looked completely the vision of officialdom and authority.

Leading her ten scouts into the local high school gym, she walked with a little extra sway in her hips to make sure everyone knew she was queen bee. The gym was teeming with about three hundred people -- from the 70 or so scouts, to their parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters, to local politicians and, finally, to some local TV news teams that had come to cover the big event.

The audience sat in a large circle surrounding each of the ten dens, with the scouts sitting “indian style” on the floor in a row behind each of their respective den mothers who sat in front of them on a folding chair (Mrs. Duncan had been convinced to return to lead another den so she was back again as well). As she walked “her boys” to their position in the circle Danielle basked in the attention she knew she was getting from all males in attendance. As usual – she loved that they couldn't keep their eyes off her and imagined them lusting after what they would never have. She also took a special pleasure in knowing that their wives and girlfriends knew she was their better in every way and couldn't do a thing about it. Little did she realize that they could – and tonight they would.

With that, the night began. A dogged progression of skits from Paul Revere’s ride, to the Boston Tea party (Danielle’s den’s production), to the Battle of Bunker Hill where tennis balls spray painted black stood in for cannon balls and ketchup for blood.

Had she paused for even a moment, the half-dressed Mrs. Parnell may have prevented what happened next – alas, she did not. The fun poked at her by Emma was enough to cause Danielle’s imperiousness momentarily to return and -- irked by the other woman’s mockery, she petulantly exclaimed, “what the hell do you think YOU’RE doing you fat cow,” before rearing back and slapping poor Emma across her face.

Suddenly all the years of snide comments, eye-rolling and abject humiliation at the hands of this woman bubbled to the surface of the ceaselessly sweet, but now completely enraged, Emma Duncan. Grabbing the lapels of Danielle’s tightly fitted yellow blouse, Mrs. Duncan pulled down with all her might causing the garment to give way both in the front and back before tearing completely off. There for all to see was the arrogant, know-it-all, tease – Danielle Parnell – wearing only her blue high heels, tiny blue thong, sheer yellow push-up bra, Cub Scout scarf and beret.

Gone was any hope of propriety, any hint of arrogance. As cell phones, cameras and the local news recorded her humiliation for posterity, all Danielle could muster was a stunned, daffy look on her once smug face. That is until Emma, whose adrenaline was coursing through her veins as it had never before, grabbed the quivering prima donna by the wrist and marched her over to the dessert table that had been setup by some of the more dedicated den mothers. Those same mothers were now laughing uproariously, ecstatic at the sight of Danielle’s reversal of fortune – it had been a long time coming they thought and couldn't be more well deserved.

“So we are all fat cows, are we Miss High and Mighty. Well I think you need a little fattening up yourself -- have some cake.”

With that Emma unceremoniously pushed Danielle’s beautiful face into a seven layer chocolate cake. When the usually exquisite Mrs. Parnell’s face reappeared it was dripping with thick chocolate and her hair, still supporting the beret, was a mess. The escapade only amplified the taunts and laughter from the cheering crowd of women.

To call it a fight would not be fair. Danielle was so mortified she put up no resistance. As Mrs. Parnell stood stupefied in her stilettos, Emma began the end.

“Don’t worry sweetie” she said sarcastically, “you can keep your bra and thong on, along with that ridiculous looking beret.”

And ridiculous it was. There stood the once untouchable queen bee, stripped to her sexy underwear and covered in cake in front of a room full of people she had tormented, degraded and looked down upon for years. Asking for a chair, Emma sat down and pulled the horrified Danielle across her lap, and wishing to prolong the diva’s agony a bit longer, she implored of the appreciative assemblage of other mothers, “well ladies -- has she had enough or do you think this snob needs a spanking.”

Despite knowing it wasn’t true, notwithstanding the thousands of hours in the gym that so helped define her physical glory and the affirmation of it by every man who ever set eyes on her, and dreading the words as the lowest form of debasement, the now broken Mrs. Parnell cried out, “I am, I am, I am a fat cow, a naughty little girl and a fat cow.”

With that, and to the collective cheers of the community, the triumphant Mrs. Duncan dumped Danielle off her lap and onto the floor. The last anyone saw of Mrs. Parnell was her running in her high heels, bra and thong panties toward the exit door of the gym, her glorious bottom a very bright shade of red. Will’s mom had indeed come undone.