My friend, Alec Leamus, finding himself unable to complete either of two
very promising stories he had begun, wrote me on 1 May 2004 and asked me
if I would finish them for him. Accorgingly, in June, I posted the
revised version of "Rita's Department Store Adventure," complete in 5
parts, having written the last chapter and a half and edited the rest (in
places, quite extensively). I have long been convinced that Alec was
writing a classic of the genre, and it's a pity he couldn't finish it
himself. AR stories are not really my metier, but I hope I did a
creditable job on it. It was considerable work, but great fun, too.
Along with a draft of half the fourth chapter of "Rita," Alec also sent
me a partial and very rough draft of the present story. I have kept his
basic plot, but have revised, expanded, and re-written it considerably.
Much of the early and middle portions derives from Alec's draft; the last
third is virtually all mine. Unfortunately, there is no way I could have
made any of the characters in this story even remotely likeable, as long
as I remained true to my conception of them (which may not, indeed, always
be quite the same as Alec's).
I am certainly departing from Alec's idea of Bethany. He conceived of
her as almost a complete goody-two-shoes, and I stuck with that in my
first version of the story. But I was never really satisfied with it,
although I wasn't exactly sure why. Then a couple of my friends concluded
(independently) that the karma was wrong -- so I revised Bethany's
character pretty thoroughly. I like this version much better. Perhaps
I've gotten it right, at last.
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
by
C. Lakewood and Alec Leamus
It was late dusk, and 18-year-old Bethany Harris stood in the shadows,
looking up at the big white house with the ancient trellis running up
the back. She was nervous. It was not really because she feared she'd
be recognized if seen -- after all, she and her mother had lived in this
town for just under three months, and she knew hardly anyone. And the
trellis, though somewhat rickety-looking, should easily support her
slender frame. No, she was nervous simply being in proximity to this
house and the spawn-of-evil child who lived there: Rhoda Westmore.
Bethany had sworn she would never even go near the Westmore house again
-- but now she was getting up nerve enough to burglarize it.
"Oh, god," she muttered. "How close to rock bottom am I?" She had
experienced a series of catastrophes in the last twelve months: her
parents' separation, the divorce, selling the only home she'd ever known,
having to give up on becoming prom queen, her mother's new job (which
involved a lot of business travel), moving here -- with Bethany's
graduation from high school sandwiched in, together with the realization
that, in all the turmoil, she'd missed the deadline for college admission
and scholarship applications -- and, now, this.
She stood there, with every nerve on edge, remembering....
*********************************
Last week had marked her fourth time as a babysitter for Rhoda, and the
job had become unbearable, even though Mr. and Mrs. Westmore were nice
enough. Well aware of their child's bad behavior, they not only paid
well above standard rates, but had even authorized Bethany to
"discipline" young Rhoda -- explaining, in so many words, that she meant
for Bethany to take Rhoda over her knee and spank her, bare-bottom, if
necessary. Bethany didn't object to this in theory, for she had been
babysitting for years and had often felt the need to spank many of the
children she'd looked after.
But 13-year-old Rhoda was at least 5'1" tall and weighed about 105 pounds
or more, while Bethany was barely 5'2" and less than 110. It would
therefore have been quite a chore for Bethany to try taking Rhoda over
her knee.
Besides, Bethany preferred to psychologically manipulate rather than to
physically coerce. Most children were easy to manage; adolescents, prey
to hormone-driven mood swings were often even easier; and most adults
carried some karmic baggage that could be used to inflence them. But
she'd found Rhoda's behavior disturbing, often infuriating. Rhoda was
diabolical in her uncanny knack for finding a person's most sensitive
inner buttons and then pushing them. In some ways it was perhaps easier
in Bethany's case than with a lot of others, for she tended to think
herself smarter than everyone else and, of course, never needed much
prompting to talk about herself (especially nowadays, considering all that
she'd been through in the last year). But, still, Bethany was astonished
(and a little jealous) when she finally perceived the degree to which
Rhoda had developed her skill for manipulating others, at such a young
age. Of course, it helped that Rhoda was also deceptively cute, highly
intelligent, and often extremely charming.
Bethany, on the other hand, had something of a tendency to under-estimate
people, which sometimes led her, unawares, into a kind of naivete. She
was bright enough -- especially in academics -- but, in plain common sense
and practical "street smarts," she had some flaws that could be exploited
by someone more subtle and adroit than herself. In the beginning, in
fact, Rhoda could con Bethany into agreeing to almost anything. She
became progressively more demanding, however, and eventually pushed
Bethany too far, too fast. As a result, after the fourth session of
babysitting, Bethany had called up Mrs. Westmore and lied to her, citing
other, unspecified "responsibilities" that prevented her sitting for them
any more. (As a goodbye gift to Rhoda, however, she had strongly
suggested that the next sitter Mrs. Westmore hired should be bigger,
more authoritarian, and more physically assertive.)
Bethany was a great believer in "situational ethics" and often resorted
to telling less than the absolute truth in order to wriggle out of sticky
situations, piously reminding herself that a white lie is frequently the
best option available for all concerned. In this case, while primarily
wanting to extricate herself, Bethany was also reluctant to admit (even to
herself) that she could be consistently outwitted by a 13-year-old.
She was, however, smart enough to see that Rhoda's bad behavior was only
further fueled by the Westmores' futility as parents. Though they did
punish Rhoda often, it did not seem to have any effect. Everyone in the
neighborhood was well aware of the infamous Westmore child, and several of
Bethany's new acquaintances had warned her not to even think of
baby-sitting "it."
(Most people wondered why the Westmores didn't just send Rhoda away to
a boarding school. Some believed that the girl would eventually run
away, and that would be that. Until that time, however, many of the
townspeople avoided the family when they could or remained wary when they
couldn't.)
To their credit, the Westmores did try to rise to the occasion, though
they were a little unorthodox in their parenting. They discovered
(after taking Rhoda to numerous counselors, camps, and shrinks) that
conventional methods of correction would not work. Very "hands on"
parents and methodical in their ways, when they locked onto a system,
they stayed the course until the experiment had clearly failed. Then
they would move on to the next system, in their ongoing attempt to
"better" their daughter and themselves.
The system currently being tried out was "Age Regression."
Even though Bethany had been warned, she still was taken aback when first
introduced to young Rhoda. The girl was sitting on the couch in the
lounge, swishing her legs back and forth. She was outfitted in a short,
pale blue and white party dress, with her blonde hair done up in two
braids. On her feet were frilly socks and white patent maryjanes. She
looked about 6 years old instead of 13.
Mrs. Westmore immediately commanded Rhoda to stop pouting and get up to
meet her babysitter. Rhoda still resented being saddled with a sitter
at her age and just glared at Bethany, who, for her part, stared
incredulously at Rhoda's outfit. She was quite familiar with how
adolescents dress, having frequently seen dozens of them at the mall. And
it always seemed that the average 13-year-old girl typically tried to look
21. She was usually dressed in a blouse or t-shirt and a short skirt or
jeans, lots of makeup, and even heels. She walked around talking on her
cell phone and acting snarky and "grown up."
But this dress was a punishment for Rhoda. Somewhere in her online
quest, Mrs. Westmore had stumbled across a parenting website detailing
this particular punishment, and it seemed to fit. Rhoda had been
caught driving, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes (even on school
grounds), violating curfew, ditching school, and so on. It was as if
she was trying to grow up overnight, skipping the next half dozen years
and going straight through to adulthood. What better way to take her
down a few pegs than to confiscate all her regular clothes and force her
to dress in this ultra-juvenile manner? Mrs. Westmore had painstakingly
found these dress designs and had had them made to order. (Rhoda did
think about taking a pair of scissors to the hated clothing, as she had
done with other outfits in the past, but she'd had second thoughts when
her mother informed her that these things were all she had now, and nudity
was the only alternative.) Of course, when she went to school, she wore
the prescribed school uniform. So, all in all, Rhoda's sartorial freedoms
were very much limited.
Similarly, the Westmores had completely transformed Rhoda's room into that
of a child. There was a PC, but Bethany was sure that it had been
straitjacketed by encrypted "parental controls." Gone, of course, were
the band posters. Gone the CD player, the TV, the paperback romances.
Instead, there were kittens and butterflies and lots of pink frills.
Anyone stumbling into that room would fully believe that it was inhabited
by a child (a rather inane child, at that).
In fact, the godawfulness of that room had aroused some pity even in
Bethany. And that, combined with her reckless greed, had ultimately
resulted in her standing in the Westmores' back yard, eyeing the upper
window.
Her birth control pills were somewhere there in Rhoda's room. On her last
night in the house, Bethany had left Rhoda to amuse herself experimenting
with a purse-load of cosmetics while she had gone off to forage for
something inconspicuous and easy to steal (cash preferred). Finding
nothing suitable, she was thoroughly bummed when she returned to that room
and saw what Rhoda had done to herself. Instead of the clown face Bethany
had been expecting, Rhoda had actually made herself up with skill and
restraint. She looked years older and quite sophisticated. And she
smiled, smugly, at Bethany's astonishment. It was the last straw.
Nothing was working out for Bethany, and she bubbled over into a terminal
fury. The rest of the evening was far from pleasant.
Late the following day, she discovered that her pills were missing. After
a thorough search, she had come to the conclusion that Rhoda had lifted
them. If Mrs. Westmore or her husband found the pills, they would
certainly question Rhoda, and she would have no hesitation in ratting
Bethany out. Normally, that would have been okay, except that it would
get back to her mother when she returned from her current business trip.
Since the divorce, Bethany had carefully developed the advantageous
appearance of a very close and honest relationship with her mother. But
all her work would be for nothing if her mother found out she was no
longer a virgin. Her mother would freak, ground her -- and make sure she
stayed grounded. God! Maybe she'd even quash Bethany's college plans and
make her get a job at Mickey D's or become a nun or something.
Bethany knew that the pills must be in Rhoda's room. The girl would not
have risked leaving them elsewhere in the house. It was Friday night, and
Bethany was counting on the Westmores following their normal routine:
going out. She couldn't knock on the front door and face them, because
of her "white lie." Besides, it would be awkward to try to search Rhoda's
room with her presence known. With that in mind, Bethany weighed her
options and decided that, if she could time it out right, she could climb
up the trellis, sneak into Rhoda's room, find the pills, and get out
before anybody knew she was there. It was a daring plan (possibly even
hare-brained), but she could think of nothing better.
*********************************
The trellis was not nearly as treacherous as it looked. After all, it
was only two stories, and Bethany did the climb carefully. The window
was already open a crack, so it was no trick to ease it the rest of the
way up. Slithering into the room, she could still hear Rhoda downstairs
arguing with her parents and hoped that would continue for a while.
Bethany searched through various boxes. Nothing. She looked under the
bed and then behind the children's books. She opened a drawer and
daintily lifted a few pairs of ruffled panties. Still nothing. She was
careful not to disturb the room, since her plan was to be as ninja-like
as possible, slipping in and out. Optimistically, she was also hoping to
meet up with her current crush later, at Frankie's Cafe. (She'd first
gotten to know Jeremy last week, and he'd casually told her he'd be there
again tonight. That was his cool way of asking her out without actually
asking -- minimal commitment required on both sides.) So there was really
not a lot of time to waste. She continued her search, but still found
nothing.
Suddenly, the loud voices downstairs went quiet, and Bethany was
petrified by the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs. She could
tell it was Rhoda. She quickly closed the window, then dropped and
rolled under the bed.
A moment later, Rhoda burst in and slammed the door behind her. Bethany
tried to quiet her excited breathing and carefully lifted up the edge of
the bed ruffle. Rhoda was looking at herself in the mirror. "Yuck!" she
exclaimed. She was still dressed as a 6-year-old.
She untied her hair ribbons and threw them on the bed. She then undid
the rubber band at the end of each braid and shook out her blonde
hair. Stretching her arm behind her back, she untied her sash, unzipped
her dress, and shrugged it off. The dress joined the ribbons on the
bed. Beneath the dress she wore a training bra that looked a little
small on her. She took off the maryjanes and ceremoniously dropped them
on the floor. She pulled off her socks and flung them into the white
wicker clothes hamper at the foot of the bed. She stretched and let out
a low moan. Shedding her training bra and then her ruffled panties, she
stretched and moaned again and then massaged her not-so-small breasts.
Bethany was transfixed by this startling metamorphosis. She knew that
Rhoda had turned 13, but had no idea how well-developed she had become.
Her breasts seemed almost as big as Bethany's, and she had hair "down
below," too. In fact, out of her clothes, and with a little makeup,
Rhoda could probably pass for 16...maybe even 18. Bethany searched her
mind, trying to remember what her own 13-year-old body had looked like.
But five years had passed since that time, and she had too successfully
blocked out that awkward period. She was always smaller than the other
girls and always a little self-conscious about her size. In high school,
however, she'd learned how to rise with the cream, and now, at 18, she was
semi-independent, and next year she would (finally) be going away to
college.
Meanwhile, Rhoda was staring at herself in the mirror with a good deal
more satisfaction than she had a few minutes before. She caressed
herself and struck a couple of poses, as if she imagined breaking a lot
of hearts in junior high.
She eventually sighed and went into the adjoining bathroom. When
Bethany heard the shower through the closed door, she knew she was safe,
temporarily. She scrambled out from under the bed. A moment later, she
spied her pill case, peeking out from the backpack worn by a stuffed
Smurf perched on a small table next to the bathroom door. Bethany
picked it up and stuck in her purse. Home free!
As she moved back to the window, however, the bathroom door suddenly
opened, and a scream halted her in her tracks. Rhoda stood naked in the
doorway for a long moment, then grabbed a towel and covered herself,
without taking her eyes off Bethany.
"what the crap are you doing in here?" Rhoda yelled.
"Rhoda, honey, are you alright?" her mother called up the stairs. "We
don't have time for games right now. Teresa will be here any moment,
and then your father and I have to go."
Bethany looked pleadingly at Rhoda and murmured, "Please don't say
anything."
Rhoda, smiling an evil smile, walked to the bedroom door and opened
it. "I'm fine, mother. I thought I saw a bug."
"Okay, honey, please be good tonight."
"I will, mother." She smiled again, shut the door, and turned back to
Bethany.
"Thank you for not giving me away, Rhoda."
"What are you doing in my room? You're not a perv, are you?"
"No, I left something here, and I didn't want to...uh...disturb your
mother and father, so I.... It's fine, now. I just...." Bethany
stammered, then caught herself, as she realized she was explaining
herself to a 13-year-old girl. "I have to go," she said as she moved
toward the window again.
"I see you found your birth control pills," Rhoda said, flatly.
Bethany looked back and smiled. "Rhoda, honey, listen.... I'll tell you
what -- I'll come by next week and take you for pizza, my treat. Just
please don't mention this to anybody." Bethany turned back to the
window once more.
"If you open that window, I'll scream so loud." Rhoda's lips smiled, but
her eyes showed she meant business.
Bethany knew this game all too well. "Okay, Rhoda, honey. What do you
want?"
"First of all, you can drop the 'honey' bull shit. I am not a little
girl, you know. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I know why you came
in here. You think you can just sneak into a house and steal and then
sneak away?"
"I wasn't stealing. It's mine," Bethany whined.
"Doesn't matter, you're trespassing. I could have you arrested."
"Look, what do you want? Money? All I have is forty dollars."
"No, I have something a little better in mind than money," Rhoda said,
slyly.
"Rhoda, hon...um.... I really don't have time for this. I need to get
going."
Rhoda calmly walked back to the door and opened it. "Mother!"
Bethany blanched, panic-stricken.
"Yes, dear, what is it?"
"Sorry, mother, nothing."
"Rhoda, take your bath and get into your nice clothes for Teresa. And
do it NOW! Quit stalling."
Bethany was shaking as the full import of her situation sank in. She
was stuck here in a room with this evil child. If she bolted, she would
surely be caught sooner or later, for Rhoda would tell everyone
everything -- more than everything, probably, embellishing it with a
sexual sub-text. And, even if someone did believe the simple truth,
there would always be a little doubt...which would keep rearing its head,
poisoning job prospects, college recommendations, friendships, even
romances.... Bethany's mind reeled with possiblitlies of her reputation
just dangling there, at the mercy of this 13-year-old.
"Switch with me," Rhoda said.
"What?"
"Switch with me. Just for a little while. I haven't been out of this
house unsupervised for over six months, and I need to get some air."
"Fine, but what do you mean switch?"
"I mean you be me. The sitter's new; she doesn't know me."
"You're crazy, Rhoda. That's a stupid idea."
Rhoda moved to her bedroom door.
"Okay, okay, I get it, but no one going to believe I'm you. I'm 18, and
clearly not 13."
"I can make it work, but you have to do everything I tell you to. Or
I'll tell everyone that you were spying on me while I was undressing and
taking a shower."
"Rhoda, you have a horrible reputation in this town. Why would anyone
believe such a wild story?"
"Because you are here, where you're not supposed to be. Trust me, I can
make them believe it."
"But isn't there something else I can do instead? This seems really
silly. The sitter is going to know I'm not you. I mean, I would know."
"Well, it'll be your job to be convincing. If you screw it up, you'll
only be hurting yourself."
Bethany hated that last phrase; she had used it on Rhoda twice, but to
no avail.
"Look, Rhoda, I'll take you out with my boy friend, I'll buy you a beer,
and I'll even let you smoke.... But not now. Now I have to go."
"It IS now, or I go downstairs and tell."
Bethany thought that she could wait until the parents left, and then it
really wouldn't matter, but, at that moment, they both heard the door
bell ring.
"Hi, I'm Teresa," floated up the stairs.
"who's Teresa?" Bethany whispered.
"She's the new sitter, since you were...busy." Rhoda cocked an
eyebrow. "I haven't met her, but I understand she's a Chicana from the
West Side. I don't think she's all that smart, so you don't have much
to worry about there."
("Great," Bethany thought. "That's all I need. She's probably an
illegal, too.")
Rhoda stood up, hands on hips, and looked Bethany up and down.
"It's now or never. Which is it going to be?"
"For how long?" Bethany sighed.
"Just a couple of hours...till, say, 10. I want do some shopping. The
mall's open late tonight."
"Alright, but you be back here at 10 -- no later."
"Fine. Now let's get to work. To start with, hold up your hand."
"What?"
"Hold up your hand...and repeat after me: 'I swear....'"
Bethany sighed and raised her hand. "I swear...."
"That I will trade places with Rhoda and pretend to be her tonight. In
addition, I promise to do everything in my power to convince anyone here
that I am only 13. And I will do everything that Rhoda says."
Bethany repeated everything, except the last sentence. She shook her head
and lowered her hand. "I am NOT going to do everything you say."
Rhoda shrugged. "Just right now, so I can get you ready for your act."
"Then," Bethany said, raising her hand again. "I promise to do
everything that Rhoda says in order to prepare me for this evening's
pretense."
"Great," Rhoda piped. "Alright, now strip down. Everything off."
"What?"
"You said you would do whatever."
"Look, I thought I would just stay up here and make a little noise so
she knows you're up here."
"Oh, no, no, no.... You still have to go downstairs eventually, meet
Teresa, and then have a civilized dinner with her. That's the procedure
-- all part of the punishment."
Bethany sighed as she pulled off her embroidered peasant blouse and then
her stylish high-heeled boots and white jeans. Soon she was standing in
her bra and panties and boot socks.
"Come on, we don't have a lot of time. Suppose Teresa comes up here and
finds us like this. Could be awkward explaining this situation, huh?"
"Good point," Bethany said, as she reluctantly pulled off her socks, then
unhooked her bra and shed her panties.
"Now, into the shower."
"I don't need a shower," Bethany said.
"Yes, but I am supposed to be taking a shower, and, besides...," she
leaned close and sniffed. "You're wearing makeup and perfume. I'm not.
You might seem a little fishy to Teresa. She may not be an Einstein, but
I don't imagine she's a dim-wit, either."
Bethany, already feeling self-conscious standing naked in front of Rhoda,
capitulated and moved toward the bathroom.
As she passed the full-length mirror that hung on the door, she noticed
that Rhoda's breasts seemed just slightly larger and fuller than her
own. Bethany's breasts were large in circumference but slight in mass --
and looked as flat as inverted saucers. Flat. Flat chested.
She was more than a little disconcerted.
It was almost a relief to step into the shower and begin lathering up.
Rhoda, standing outside, continued to give orders. "Be sure and wash
thoroughly. Use the shampoo in the red bottle."
Bethany was not happy about using an inferior hair product, but she
figured that that was just part of the price she had to pay to placate
Rhoda for the evening...and for that "harmless" white lie to Mrs.
Westmore. If only she had agreed to babysit tonight, she wouldn't be in
this scrape.
"And don't forget to shave," Rhoda said. "Everywhere."
Bethany opened the shower door. "What do you mean 'everywhere'?"
"I mean underarms, legs, and crotch."
Bethany gaped at her.
"Look under my arms: nothing," Rhoda said, raising her arms.
"Yesss.... But you have hair...'down there.' So why should I shave...?"
"Because it will help with the illusion. Suppose Teresa gets it into
her head to help you dress for bedtime. That might be awkward...rouse
suspicion. But, if there's nothing there, she won't think anything of
it at all."
"Fine. It's just hair. Whatever." Bethany retreated. It WOULD grow
back, but she hated to imagine how itchy it was going to be when it did.
Rhoda added, with a sneer in her voice, "And do a good job, or I'll go
back over it and make sure it's done right.... And, by the way, if you
know about my 'hair...down there,' you obviously WERE spying on me."
Rhoda closed the bathroom door on Bethany's sputtered denials.
Bethany stepped back into the shower and began shaving, trying to be as
thorough as possible for Rhoda.
She heard Rhoda moving around the bedroom for a moment, and then the
bedroom door opened, closed, opened, and closed. She shivered.
Suddenly, the bathroom door opened.
"Knock, knock," Rhoda mocked.
"What?"
Bethany turned off the shower and opened the stall door slightly. Rhoda
flung it wide open.
"Face me. Arms up."
Bethany raised her arms and put her hands on top of her head.
"Oh, I get it: inspection time. You are really getting a kick out of
this, aren't you?"
Rhoda tilted a blue bottle and poured some creamy amber substance into
her hand and rubbed it into Bethany's underarms. She then applied some
more down Bethany's legs -- and a generous portion onto her crotch.
"What is that stuff?" Bethany asked.
"Lotion. It'll help to smooth off any stubble you missed."
"Whatever. Just hurry; I'm getting cold. And I really don't think you
should be touching me like that."
"Relax, I'm almost done. Just turn around so I can do the backs of your
legs."
Bethany turned around as Rhoda smoothed lotion down her legs and slathered
some into her butt-crack.
"I think that's enough," Bethany said, turning around.
Rhoda smiled complacently. "All done."
"Hey! This stuff is burning. What's in this lotion?"
"It's hair removal cream. My mom uses it. Really good stuff."
"Dammit, Rhoda, you can really damage someone's skin if you're not
careful," she said, quickly turning on the shower and trying to dance
around the spray as she adjusted the water temperature and force.
"It's fine. Mom uses it all the time. She got it from a doctor."
Bethany heard the bathroom door open and close.
Meanwhile Bethany washed and rinsed to extinquish the burning. Her
legs soon felt okay, but the hot tingling lingered on in her pussy and
butt-hole. At length, she finished up, stepped out, and began drying off.
As the fog on the mirror began to clear, she was a little taken aback at
her reflection. She was used to the flat chest and narrow hips and
childish butt, but now she was HAIRLESS, too. She lifted her arm and
ran her hand underneath. It was smoother than she had ever gotten
shaving. Then she slowly moved her hand down to her pubic area. "It"
was very, very smooth. She marvelled that there was no stubble at all;
it was as if she had never had hair there. There was some redness, but
little discomfort, on the outside. (Inside, however, it was still
buzzing.) She continued drying herself and got a bit of a shock when she
ran the towel over her bottom, which she found to be not merely hairless,
but also smooth and silky. She flinched, as she felt in between her
cheeks. It was weird...but sort of sexy....
Bethany wrapped the towel around herself and opened the bathroom
door. The sight that greeted her stopped her cold. There, standing in
the middle of the room, was Rhoda, dressed in Bethany's clothes. Rhoda
had apparently put on everything: blouse, jeans, boots, and all. (Bethany
was chagrined to see that they fit her amazingly well.) Rhoda had even
found some time to apply a bit of makeup. With her hair pulled back
slightly, she looked thoroughly adult.
"Hey, you're wearing my clothes!" Bethany bleated.
"what am I supposed to wear? My mom's stuff is way too big, and I can't
go out alone in any of mine, you know. Besides, I'm not wearing ALL your
stuff...." She grinned. "Your bra was too small."
Bethany's head was swimming.
"So, anyway, let's get a look at you," Rhoda said, as she swiped away
Bethany's towel.
"Hey!"
"Hands at your sides. Remember, you said you'd do everything I told you
to."
"Yes...."
Rhoda then stepped up close to Bethany, who realized that they were now
the same height. Perhaps Rhoda was even the taller.
Rhoda proceeded to feel under Bethany's arms and, kneeling, inspected her
legs and bottom.
"Wow, that stuff works great! You're as smooth as a baby...'down
there.' But it does look like you've been playing with yourself...."
Bethany blushed red.
"Rhoda, stop it."
Rhoda swatted her bottom. "Quiet!"
Bethany jumped. "Please, Rhoda, this...this inspection has surely gone on
long enough. Just let me get dressed...." She was feeling uncomfortably
diffident towards Rhoda.
"Well, there are your clothes," Rhoda said, gesturing in her best Vanna
White impression. Laid out on the bed was one of Rhoda's typical
punishment outfits. It was a short, frilly party dress, a pink and white
confection, the kind of dress a 6-year-old might wear to church or a
birthday party. There were little socks and panties and a training bra.
"I thought I was going to wear some pajamas or something. I can't wear
that."
"Sure you can. Besides, you have to go down and have dinner with
Teresa. If you recall, my mother is very explicit with her instuctions
about how I'm to be treated. Remember?"
"Yes." Bethany did remember all the small punishments she had been told
to administer while babysitting: certain games and certain foods and
certain books and television shows -- designed to suit a 6-year-old and
to humilate Rhoda. Imposing them had rather embarrassed Bethany, but she
had found it kind of fun, too. It was going to be a lot less fun, now.
But, grateful to be getting dressed in anything, she pulled on the panties
and then the training bra.
"This is too small," she complained, squirming.
Rhoda snorted. "Okay, Miss Tits, I must have tightened it up too much. I
can loosen it a little." Rhoda stepped behind her and adjusted the
straps. Bethany caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was
horrified to see that she looked even more flat-chested than usual. She
hardly noticed Rhoda putting her into the dress. She did rouse herself
enough to put on the socks and shoes. Surprisingly, the shoes seemed to
fit.
Moments later, Rhoda was standing over her, braiding Bethany's hair into
two pigtails. Lots of practice in doing and undoing them had given her a
certain amount of skill. She finished by tying on the very two ribbons
she had tossed off before.
Bethany stood up and wobbled unsurely.
"Ow, these shoes hurt. I don't think I can wear them. They fit when I
was sitting down, but now they pinch my toes. "
Rhoda, ignoring the complaint, stepped back to admire her work and almost
stumbled in her new boots. Recovering, she directed Bethany's attention
to the long mirror.
Instead of the confident, soon-to-be college student of voting age, she
saw a little girl of twelve or thirteen.
She couldn't believe it. Somehow a strange transformation had occurred,
and she had been reduced to a child again. Awkward, inexpressible
thoughts and feelings seem to rise up to the surface of her mind as she
stood open mouthed, staring at her reflection. She looked at her braids
with pink bows at the ends, at her frilly little ankle socks, her shoes,
and her embarrassingly short dress that didn't quite cover her ruffled
panties. In those clothes, and with her innocent, fresh-scrubbed face,
she could easily be mistaken for a child. Indeed, she looked very much
like Rhoda.
Rhoda stepped over to the window and watched her parents drive away. She
then opened the window and looked down. "Wow, how did you do this?"
"Just use the trellis.... And please be careful." Bethany looked at the
ground below and imagined Rhoda falling and the chaos that would ensue,
with the Westmores returning home to discover her dressed as their child
and Rhoda on the back lawn surrounded by paramedics. Bethany shook her
head, as if to dispel this image, straightened up, and faced Rhoda.
"Now, you can't be late, 'cause I'm meeting Jeremy at Frankie's."
Rhoda paused at the window. "Who's Jeremy?"
"Jeremy from the computer store. I told you about him. You know -- tall,
dark hair, looks like that new guy on 'Buffy.' We sorta have plans to
hook up tonight...."
"Isn't 10 a little late to be beginning a date? What time's your curfew?"
"I don't have one. Mom's out of town."
Rhoda giggled. "Anybody'd think you had a curfew before sundown, looking
the way you do.... And you're obviously much too young to be going out
on dates at all."
"Stifle yourself, Rhoda!"
"I don't think you should use that tone with me, young lady," Rhoda said,
smiling thinly. "I mean, just look at yourself."
"I know. You dressed me like this. I wouldn't even have to be like this
if you'd learned to behave yourself and.... Oh, dammit!" She sighed and
sat down on the bed. "Just be careful going down. And don't be late. We
have a deal, and, if you break it, I'll find a way to get you back. I
promise you that." (That sounded so weak, she thought.)
"Sure thing," Rhoda answered, flippantly.
It didn't sound as though she was taking this seriously. And, in fact,
she wasn't. She was free for now and intended to use every moment to the
fullest. Wasting no more time, she climbed out the window and onto the
trellis, then clambered quickly towards the yard below.
Suddenly aware of missing something, Bethany looked around the room. Her
purse? Where was her purse? She stuck her head out the window, and, sure
enough, half way down to the lawn, slung over Rhoda's shoulder, was the
purse.
She called, in a frantic stage whisper, "Hey! My purse!"
"I know, I'll bring it back," Rhoda answered, continuing her descent.
"See you!"
Rhoda reached the ground and scampered through the hedge that separated
the back yard from the front. She stood for a moment, breathing deeply,
and then walked off down the driveway. Bethany watched all this and
noticed how confidently Rhoda moved. She did seem a little bit more grown
up. If only she would behave....
She pulled her head back in and realized that Teresa was shouting at her,
"Rhoda Westmore! You come down here righ' now."
The sudden reality of her situation drove all other thoughts from her
head. It was show time, and she was scared -- afraid of being discovered,
which could be far worse than being treated, for the next couple of hours,
as someone who was 13-going-on-6. Her mind was a blur.
"If you don' come downstairs righ' now, I'm gonna have to come up there,
and tha' would be bad for you."
The one thing Bethany had going for her was that, unlike Rhoda, she was
not out to play mind games or create problems or compete for power. For
the next two hours, she would behave.
Recognizing the tone in Teresa's voice, she knew she'd better get a move
on. Nervously, she stepped out of the bedroom and descended the staircase
to meet the sitter, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs. She could
feel Teresa's eyes moving over her, studying her.
Teresa looked to be about eighteen herself, but was much bigger than
Bethany. She must have been at least 5'8" and 150 muscular pounds. She
was the sort of girl who would have been labeled a "jock" or even a "dyke"
at her old school, and who always intimidated the hell out of Bethany in
junior high -- especially in the showers after P.E. (And the aftereffects
of that damned lotion were still bothering her some..."down there.")
Bethany tripped on the next to last step and fell heavily onto Teresa.
(Damn these shoes!)
At that point, still operating on the theory that Teresa was a wet-back,
Bethany made another questionable decision and broke out some of her high
school Spanish:
"!Ay! Perdoname, por favor, chica. ?Como esta? Lo siento mucho...."
("Oh! Pardon me, please, girl. How are you? I'm so sorry....")
"Cu' the crap, kid." Teresa's angular features were set in a scowl.
"Didn' you hear me callin' you?"
"Yes, but I was in the bathroom," Bethany answered without hesitation.
Bethany had not wanted to look directly at Teresa, fearing that her face
would give her away. But Teresa leaned close and grabbed Bethany by the
chin, so that the two were eyeball to eyeball.
"Okay, Rhoda, you look a' me when you speak to me. Le's ge' somethin'
straigh'. I know all abou' you -- I been fully warn'. An' le' me tell
you somethin'. I'm no' sof', like tha' other sitter. I help' raise my
two younger brothers, so I can handle you easy. An' your paren's give me
freedom to punish you. If you do like I tell you, we'll ge' along jus'
fine. If no', there'll be trouble. An', believe me, you don' wan' no
trouble from me. Do we understan' each other?"
(Bethany was mortified and shaken, but, at the same time, relieved. Her
disguise was holding up. It was humiliating, but temporary. Soon it
would be bedtime, and that would be that. It was a little scary, though,
and made her feel even smaller, having to stand there and let Teresa,
towering above her, berate her.)
"Y-yes, ma'am," Bethany murmured.
"Okay."
("Perfect," Bethany thought. "Give her her props. Don't challenge her
authority. Just knuckle under, and things'll go smoothly. This Teresa
certainly is a goon, though. I'm a little surprised she hasn't called me
a 'maggot.' But, then, maybe this hard line would have worked out better
in dealing with Rhoda than the psychological approach I tried. It's sad
to think so, but Rhoda may well have needed a drill sergeant more than a
counselor. It's just that I'd felt sorry even for Rhoda, the little
bitch, when I first met her and saw how they made her dress. Though she
might have deserved it, still, how humiliating that had to be for a
precocious 13-year-old...how devastating to her self-esteem. It's
uncomfortable enough for me, and I know it'll soon be ending. Hmmm, I
guess maybe I'm beginning to feel better about this whole impersonation
thing....")
"I see they were righ' -- you are a little big for your age," Teresa
commented.
"Yes, I had a growth spurt this summer," Bethany answered.
"Well, it's dinner time. Go wash up."
"Yes, ma'am." Bethany started off, but, as she did so, she misstepped
and almost fell again.
(Goddamn these shoes!)
Washing her hands, she began shaking with apprehension. Despite her
successful first meeting with the Teresa, she was sure that she would be
caught sooner or later -- but, even more, she felt ridiculous. She hated
this dress and the way it rustled when she moved. And these damned awful
shoes! But she began to see why this was such an appropriate punishment
for a hellion like Rhoda, who was constantly pushing the envelope and
trying to grow up too fast. The little bitch had even been caught twice
driving. Driving! She was 13 and didn't even have a learner's permit.
Then a stunningly disturbing thought hit her: Rhoda had taken her purse
and therefore her car keys. Suddenly Bethany was worried about all sorts
of things, and wild scenarios played through her head -- all of them
ending up with her trying to explain to an apoplectic judge why she'd
lent her car to a 13-year-old.
Bethany returned to the dining room feeling distracted. She was no longer
concerned merely about being discovered trespassing in Rhoda's bedroom.
Now she was worried that Teresa might penetrate her makeover, or that the
Westmores might come home early and blow her cover, or, worst of all,
that Rhoda might be the cause of some ghastly, multi-car pileup on the
interstate....
Then she smelled the wonderful aroma coming from a basket of biscuits on
the table and realized how long it had been since she had eaten. She
picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it. Heavenly!
She was about to take a big bite, when Teresa suddenly came up behind her
and grabbed her arm. The biscuit went flying, glanced off the table, and
hit the floor, breaking into several pieces.
Teresa snarled. "Firs', I didn' give you no permission. Secon', tha's
no' yours. So, thir', you clean up tha' mess...ever'thin'...an' be
quick." She paused and smiled, thinly. "!Pronto, chiquita!"
And she stalked back into the kitchen. Bethany, crouching, heard Teresa
return a moment later. She looked back and saw the sitter was carrying
a stout but whippy switch....
"Your paren's, they give me this...tell me use it you give me troubles."
Teresa's grasp of the language seemed to deteriorate as she became
angrier. But Bethany hardly noticed; she had more pressing concerns.
"I-I'm cleaning it up as fast as I can, ma'am," she whimpered.
"No' fas' enough."
Teresa swung a forehand uppercut at Bethany's perfectly positioned butt.
Ssssswickk!
"Aaaaah! Please, DON'T!"
Ssssswickk! Ssssswickk! Ssssswickk!
Bethany desperately snatched up the last crumbs. As she deposited them
in the garbage, she was aware that her pussy was beginning to burn
again. Was getting spanked a turn-on? WAS she a pervert? How
embarrassing!
She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind, but that then left room
for worries about what catastrophes Rhoda might be concocting. Bethany
shrugged, disconsolately, and again reminded herself of the plan to stay
on Teresa's "good" side, if at all possible.
She rubbed her tender bottom, ruefully.
***********************************
But Bethany's continuing preoccupation with her sore bottom, her tingling
pussy, and a number of imagined "worst cases" involving Rhoda evaporated
suddenly when dinner was served.
Teresa's dinner consisted of caesar salad, braised pork chops, hash
browns, french-style green beans, biscuits, iced tea, and peach cobbler a
la mode.
Bethany's dinner was a raw turnip, a big bowl of microwaved oatmeal, and a
large glass of prune juice.
She also immediately forgot her plan of maintaining a low profile.
"I can't eat this...this slop. I won't! I demand real food, like you've
got, you...you...." Bethany was livid.
Without a word, Teresa got up and stalked off to the kitchen. A moment
later, she was back, and placed in front of Bethany a second raw turnip,
a second bowl of oatmeal, and a second glass of prune juice.
"After you finish your firs' helpin's, you can have more. An' make sure
you clean up ever'thin'," Teresa said, in a perfectly bland voice.
"No! I certainly will not."
Teresa laughed, throatily. Then she sat down, grabbed Bethany, and easily
hauled her across her lap. She flipped up Bethany's dress, skinned her
ruffled panties down and completely off, paused for a moment to admire the
four red stripes left by the switch, and then began flailing away at the
defenceless pink butt.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
You don' talk tha' way to me. Understan'?'
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
"Yaaah! Please! I-I understand. Please -- not so hard. I'm s-sorry,
ma'am. Sorry!"
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
"You be even more sorry if you sass me again."
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
Perhaps exacerbated by the pain inflicted by Teresa's strong right arm and
callous palm, the burning itch in Bethany's crotch flaired up again.
The double torment was almost unendurable, and she began uncontrollably
grinding her inflamed pussy down onto Teresa's knee.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
"Please, ma'am. Oh, god...oh, god.... Aaaaaa!"
"Wha' you doin', you dirty girl? Oh, you gonna pay...."
She stood Bethany up and, ignoring her sniveling, looked first with scorn
at the girl's reddened, hairless, and drooling pussy -- and then with fury
at the mess it had made.
"Look what you do on my knee, you dirty girl. You clean tha' up. Righ'
now!"
Blushing, Bethany reached for a napkin, but Teresa slapped her hand away.
A slow, evil smile spread across the Latina's swarthy face.
"No.... No napkin, no towel. You use your smar' mouth, tongue...."
So Bethany had to lick her own juices off Teresa's knee. She gagged at
the very idea, initially, but then, surprisingly, didn't find the actual
task all that distasteful.
***********************************
She ate her meal silently, seated at a low table, on a hard stool, still
pantyless. Chewing glumly, Bethany cursed her own lack of self-control
(never really her strength, anyway). She did manage to make it through
her double helpings of turnips, oatmeal, and prune juice without further
incident -- though her bowels were already beginning to complain.
When, at last, she'd finished, she rose and timidly held up her hand.
"M-may I go to the b-bathroom, please?"
"You wanna take a bath?"
"N-no.... I want to use the t-toilet."
"Use? For wha'?" Teresa sneered.
"I-I have to...to t-take a c-crap. Please."
"Firs', I see your cun' slobbered all over the stool. You lick tha' up."
She smiled in satisfaction and genuine amusement as she watched Bethany
lick her seat clean.
"May I go now, please, ma'am?" Bethany quavered when she'd finished the
clean-up.
"Now you do dishes."
So, Bethany washed and dried the dinner dishes by hand, while Teresa
supervised (and ate a second dessert).
After that, Teresa made her beg and grovel and prance around in the
"potty dance" for a few minutes, during the course of which Bethany
grabbed hold of her crotch.
"Don' you play with yourself, you dirty girl," Teresa snarled. She
reached out, seized the offending hand by the wrist, and smacked it,
hard. It was a simple act, but one that spoke volumes. It was the kind
of thing that you did to a child, and Bethany felt it. She was also
intimidated by the fact that Teresa stood over her, glaring down, seeming
so much bigger and more powerful and...and adult than her. Stunned, she
stood openmouthed for a moment.
"I-I wasn't...." Bethany cringed under Teresa's glare. "I mean...I-I'm
s-sor-ry. I won't do it again, ma'am...." She surrendered.
Pleased with her victory, Teresa allowed Bethany to scurry off to the
downstairs half-bath.
***********************************
After the first gush (and before the second, which she knew was coming),
Bethany sat, in a cloud of her own stench, and speculated. It was true
that Teresa was a heavy-handed brute, even worse than the bullies at
school. But that couldn't explain everything....
Teresa's manner had been intimidating from the beginning, without the
slightest attempt to bond. She never asked Bethany about school or
family -- or, for that matter, about anything else. And even mediocre
baby sitters know that bonding is important, both for manipulating the
child and for impressing the parents into giving you repeat business.
(When the parents come home and question the kids, ideally, the sitter
should have seemed neither too lax nor too demanding.) It's good to
bond a little, but you must also be firm enough -- otherwise the little
bastards'll walk all over you. Bethany had already decided that she had
been much too kind to Rhoda. In contrast, Teresa (who, despite some
linguistic shortcomings, did not seem to be stupid) had made absolutely
no effort to be at all friendly. It didn't really make sense.
But, on a happier note, Bethany smirked when she thought about next
Friday, when Teresa got to babysit the real Rhoda. She wondered how
that was going to play out. Perhaps a week's absence would cloud her
memory? Not likely. Teresa would definitely be puzzled, but probably
wouldn't raise any questions, for fear of seeming delusional. She'd just
make a point of tromping on Rhoda extra hard. It'll serve both of them
right....
Suddenly, there was a hellish pounding on the bathroom door.
"Whew! I can smell the stink ou' here. Now, you don' screw aroun' no
more. Almos' 10 o'clock and time for herbal tea and then sleep."
Almost 10 o'clock!
Returning to the kitchen, Bethany found Teresa standing there with her
hands on her hips.
"Are you sorry abou' bein' a dirty girl?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Bethany answered contritely, staring at the floor and still
trying to play the part.
"Look a' me," Teresa commanded. "ARE you sorry?"
Bethany looked up. "Yes, ma'am."
"So. You gonna behave?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay. There's your tea. I'll be righ' back." Teresa exited, smiling
thinly.
Bethany sat down at the kitchen picked up the mug of tea, sniffed it, and
took a tentative sip. It was a little bitter, but not bad -- and
certainly tastier than her dinner had been.
Cradling the mug in both hands, between sips she looked up at the clock:
two minutes to 10. Aaahh! She'd made it. Now she would soon get her own
clothes back and go off to meet Jeremy. Satisfied, she drained the mug
and leaned back.
She sighed. This evening had been so exhausting....
She could hear voices coming from the front room, but garbled, muffled,
really weird. Oh, god, she was so tired. She couldn't get her eyes to
open more than half-way. Her brain was still working, more or less, but
the messages it was trying to send out were not being received by the rest
of her body. The lines were down -- and, for some reason, that seemed
funny.
Then Teresa returned, along with two burly men in white jackets. And
Bethany thought that was absolutely hilarious.
As the funny men led her, still giggling, from the house, Bethany had the
vague, passing thought that she was forgetting something. But it was past
her bedtime now, so she'd have to try to remember it tomorrow.
***********************************
At that very moment, in Room 949 of the posh Crowne Plaza Hotel, Mr. and
Mrs. Westmore were conversing.
"I know you're feeling guilty, dear," he said. "And so do I, but it's no
use. It had to be done. And it's for the best, I'm sure, that we're not
there when the...er...'attendents' come for her tonight. I'm afraid there
might have been a 'scene' otherwise. This way, and under cover of night,
it should happen as smoothly and quietly as possible."
"Oh, I know. I suppose you are right," she replied. "But that awful
place.... It almost seems more like an insane asylum or a penal compound
than a boarding school."
"Be that as it may, the Samuel Cale School is fully accredited and has
an excellent reputation for handling behavioral problems in perverse
females -- which, let's face it, is exactly what Rhoda is. We know
there's nothing medically wrong with her, and nothing that psychiatry
can remedy...."
"Yes, I guess.... It's just...well, the strict discipline and all those
humiliating punishments for breaking the rules...and not being allowed to
communicate with us for the first six weeks.... I just hope and pray two
things: first, that they do straighten her out and, second, that she
doesn't hate us afterward."
"That's all we CAN do, now," he said, shaking his head.
***********************************
Meanwhile, not more than a mile away, in a modest late Victorian
two-story, Rhoda had already ransacked Bethany's bedroom, packed two
suitcases and a duffel full of clothes and choice doodads, and stowed her
loot in the car. She was now finishing up an e-mail note to Mrs. Harris,
using Bethany's PC:
Dear Mom,
I tried to stick it out, but I just can't. Too much has
happened this past year. I don't even know who I am
anymore. So I'm going away for a while to try and sort
things out. I'll come back when I get my head straight.
Love,
Beth
Rhoda clicked on "Send," logged off, and left the house, thoughtfully
turning out the lights, except for a dim one in the foyer. She felt
better than she had for a long time. Her grand adventure had begun.
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