Babysat - Part One (Commission)

Thanks to our super-cool patron Contentfromtheshadowrealm for commissioning this one!

***

"Oh, come ooo-nn!" Chelsea protested, her voice rising into a irritable wail. "This literally makes no sense! I mean, why the heck are you even here, Sharon?" The fiery redhead glared daggers at her former high school friend seated across from her at the kitchen table. "I never liked you that much to begin with. And besides, who on earth thinks their twenty-one-year-old daughter needs a friggin' babysitter, anyway?!"

"Your mom and dad clearly do," Sharon smiled, her cool, self-assured tone a stark contrast with Chelsea's ill-tempered ranting. "And you're actually still twenty, Chels, and thus still not a full adult. Look, I don't really care that you don't like me. I've told you once, and I can tell you again, though I highly doubt it will make much difference. Your folks specifically hired me for this, okay? They went out of their way to tell me just how mature and accomplished they think I am. They told me how much they trusted that I would be a good influence on you..."

She leaned closer, her eyes locking with Chelsea's. "And so, they simply asked me to come over here and keep you company until they're back from Kenya. You know, just to keep an eye on things - and to make sure you don't trash your parents' house while they're away..."

"Duh. Like I'd do that," Chelsea grumbled peevishly, looking away and furiously running her chipped nails along a crack in the table. "They're just being jerks about it, that's all. Typical. They just want to ruin my life, my one chance at being on my own-"

"Hey, now you're just being difficult. You and I both know you've had more than enough chances to be on your own," Sharon asserted, rising from the table and circling around to stand imperiously beside her friend. "You're barely a year younger than me, remember? And in that time - while I've graduated at the top of our high school class, and while I've just wrapped up my final year in one of the nation's top universities, you've been... doing what, exactly? Still repeating a few classes at the local community college? Partying with those empty-headed, delinquent friends of yours?"

"No-oo," Chelsea blustered, her cheeks reddening as she groped for some way to refute the stinging truth of Sharon's accusations. "Hey, it's not at all the same! What I'm doing is practical-" "Oh, is it now?" Sharon smiled, easing her spluttering friend's chair backward from the table. "I can see that from how busily employed you've been, and how long that CV of yours must be..."

She imperiously motioned Chelsea up from her seat. "No, Chelsea. I think it's time you finally admit the truth, to me and to yourself. You don't want to move on, do you? You don't want a job, or a future, or a home of your own. Why would you, when you can just leech off your parents year after year? It must be so nice, living rent-free, not worrying about interviews and utility bills and leases and deposit fees..." Her hands slipped firmly onto Chelsea's shoulders. "You want to be your parents' little girl forever. I get it. Everyone gets it. You'd rather let them take care of everything so you don't have to, isn't that right?"

"What? Wait, no- No, of course not! Why are you being such a bitch about-" Chelsea protested, even as Sharon's grip on her shoulders tightened. "Oh, my!" Sharon smiled, her voice dropping into mocking baby-talk. "Is someone getting cwanky when her babysitter tells her the twuth? Didn't wittle Chelsea get enough sweepy time last time? Maybe we'd better tuck this wittle girl back into bed..." Sharon smirked as she propelled the furiously spluttering Chelsea toward the hall and the bedrooms beyond. "Yep, I bet a nap is exactly what an immature little brat like you needs..."

"What?! No, stop it! You can't do this! Get your hands off me!" Chelsea was flailing now. but all to no avail. Sharon, six inches taller and a brown belt in judo, had no difficulty in herding her back to the pastel-hued room that had been Chelsea's since she was just a kid. "Oh, someone's pretty crabby!" was all Sharon commented, her quiet amusement in the face of Chelsea's struggles all the more humiliating. "You'd better quiet down. Unless you want a spanking, that is..."

"You wouldn't dare!" Chelsea spat, her eyes narrowing as she backed instinctively against the wall in defense. "Bitch, there's no way you'd actually-"

Oh, but there was. Within seconds Sharon had darted in and, seizing the spluttering redhead around the neck, slid down onto the bed and bent her flailing friend over her knees. "Actually, I will!" she chuckled, deftly pinning Chelsea's arms behind her. "Now, you wanna repeat that? Or maybe you'd rather tell your babysitter you're sorry for calling her a naughty word?"

"Fuck you!" came Chelsea's wail - and at that, Sharon briskly yanked down the girl's jeans to reveal a pair of pale-blue panties beneath. "Fine, I guess we'll do this the hard way, then," she shrugged - and began raining a flurry of smacks down on the squirming girl's ass.

The sound of flat palm meeting tender flesh mingled with high-pitched squeals that soon descended into sobs. "Stop it- please, no- no, I swear- I'm sorry, please, just stop-" But it was only when the tears began to drip noiselessly to the carpet, the sobs slipped into disconsolate grunts, and the flailing legs quieted to an occasional kick that Sharon finally let up. "Now, then," she ordered, rubbing the reddening skin of the girl's rear. "I think an apology is in order. Tell me now, Chels. What are you sorry for?"

"For- for- for calling you a- a bitch," the girl muttered brokenly, her frame sagging over her babysitter's knee. "Good. And what happens to girls who yell and fight back and use the f-word?" "They- they get punished," Chelsea murmured, wiping fitfully at her tear-streaked face. "They- they get their- their butt beat..."

"That's right!" Sharon praised, sliding Chelsea from her knees and pulling her up to sit beside her. "You're a fast learner, aren't you?" Chelsea said nothing, but reached tentatively for the jeans that hung crumpled around her ankles. "Can I go now?"

"But we're not done yet," Sharon smiled, rising to her feet. "You see, I think you've just shown me that you need more than a nap. You need a reminder of who's really in charge here, and what happens to girls who act like little brats." She got to her feet. "And for that, we're going to need to take a quick trip to the store. Come on, Chels - pull up those pants and get your shoes, unless you want me to do that for you, too. We're going shopping."

***

It was an outing unlike any Chelsea had ever experienced. They'd arrived at the superstore where, oddly enough, Sharon had headed straight toward the kids and babies' section. "Should be right over here," Sharon gestured now, turning down an aisle bright with pastel colors and heavy with the scent of baby powder. "Ah, yes, here we are. Just what we need!"

Chelsea's eyes widened as she followed Sharon's gaze. "What? Why on earth- What sort of sick joke-" "Oh, it's no joke," Sharon smiled with an amused shake of her head. "If you're of an age where you still need a babysitter - if you act like a little brat - why, I think it will do you good to be treated like one for awhile. And there's no better reminder of being a little brat than-" and here she lifted a large purple pack of "GoodNites Bedtime Underwear" from the shelf, "Than some nice crinkly pull-ups."

Oh, Chelsea most definitely protested. There was no way she'd ever wear them. Sharon was crazy, she was power-tripping, she had no right...! And yet, nothing she could say prevented Sharon from primly walking toward a checkout and letting the handsome guy cashier there ring them up. "So glad you still carry these," she commented brightly, slipping her credit card back into her purse with a sideways smirk at the mortified Chelsea. "Sometimes they just keep on having accidents no matter how big they get... you know?"

And so it was that, within minutes of their return home, the two were back in Chelsea's room. "You- you wouldn't dare-" the red-faced girl faltered as Sharon slid open the drawer containing her underwear. "Sweetie, of course I would and I will!" Sharon chirped, swatting away Chelsea's fingers that reached futilely to save her threatened panties. "Now, no more whining. You're being a little hellion, and we both know you've more than earned this punishment..." And within minutes, the drawer had been filled with neat stacks of pastel-hued pull-ups - a sight that looked far more appropriate for a three-year-old's dresser than for that of a twenty-year-old young woman.

"Now, then. Off with those jeans and panties. I don't think you're going to need them - the panties, at least - for a good long while."

So it was that, despite her despairing protests, Chelsea was inevitably stripped of her jeans and panties, and with them her dignity. And yet, as Sharon pulled that first crinkling pull-up to her waist with a smirk and a laugh - and as Sharon scraped the heap of her panties together and tossed them into her locking suitcase - Chelsea felt something inside her clenching into a defiant iron fist.

Yes, she might have been humiliated today: humiliated, defeated, and degraded. In the coming days she might be reduced to babyish pull-ups and spankings and the condescending control of her high school tormentor. But she wasn't going to put up with this kind of humiliation indefinitely. Not a chance.

(To be continued!)