Mr Chambers called Tracey into his office. She knew of course why he had chosen her. Of all the associates in the law firm, she was the one who would be likely to do him a favour. It was her way of getting on - sucking up to the boss. She had to. When you are like Tracey then you suck up to the boss. You suck up to the boss because you need the money, and you need the money because you spend every penny you get on smart clothes and a mortgage you couldn't pay even if you didn't spend all your money on smart clothes. Tracey owed a lot of money. She had to suck up to the boss.
Getting a job at Chambers and Chambers hadn't been easy either. But she'd worked her way up, by the simple method of doing all the donkey work, all the boring work, of saying 'Yes Sir' and 'Yes Sir' and 'Three Bags Full Sir'.
So here she was, little Tracey, all five foot two of her, with her girly face and squeaky voice, standing in the boss's office saying 'Yes Sir. Of course Sir. I'd be delighted to Sir!'
“Thank you so much Tracey,” he said, “I knew I could rely on you,”
Knew no one else would be as stupid more like it, thought Tracey, smiling with a fixed grin.
“It’s not that Emily needs a babysitter as such," went on Mr Chambers, "she is after all sixteen, it’s just that well…” he paused a few seconds to find the right words, “she is perhaps not all that reliable. She just needs someone to keep an eye on her.”
“That’s all right,” said Tracey. Well it was a good chance to really suck up to the boss.
“The last babysitter, I mean helper, left er..." he paused as if trying to think of the right word, "...suddenly. I managed to find someone else – a strict disciplinarian - to stay with her while Mrs Chambers and I attend the opera, just what Emily needs, but she can’t get till eight and Mrs Chambers will not be happy if she does not get her regular dose of Brunnhilde. And if Mrs Chambers isn't happy well...”
He paused again, contemplating the dreadful consequences of Mrs Chambers not getting her regular Brunnhilde.
“No problem at all Sir,” no chance for Tracey to go to the opera then. Not that Brunnhilde was really a Tracey thing.
Two hours of boring looking after some sort of surly teenager, not her idea of a great night, but then it was all in a good cause. She knocked on the door at ten to six. Mr Chambers beamed at her.
“So good of you to come dear,” patronising twit, “Emily, here is Tracey come to keep you company till Miss Pettigrew comes.”
Emily, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, looked up from the table where she had been doing her homework and said, “Hello Miss Tracey.” She was a big girl for her age. A good six inches bigger than Tracey! Dark haired, not unattractive.
Tracey understood now why she had been asked to come. Emily was perhaps not quite the brightest. This was going to be a doddle. A couple of hours in front of the telly, then home for her. It wasn’t quite as simple as that.
“Can we play a game?” asked Emily after an hour or so. Tracey was watching the television and wasn’t keen on games.
“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”
“Done,” pronounced Emily.
Tracey didn’t believe her, but it wasn’t her job to get her to work.
“How about watching telly?”
“I prefer a game.”
“What sort of game?”
“Schools!”
“What sort of game is schools?”
“You pretend to be teacher and I’ll be the pupil.”
“That’s not much of a game. You go to school every day.”
“Oh,” this seemed to flummox her, “I know. I’ll be teacher and you can be the pupil.”
“What! What sort of a boring game is that?”
“It’s not a boring game! It’s a good game. I want to play schools. I want to play schools,” and she started stamping her foot. Tracey was not very good with children and she couldn’t think of any way of shutting her up other than agreeing to play schools.
“All right, all right,” she said, “you be teacher. Now what are you going to teach me.”
“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” said Emily. She was quite convincing. Tracey thought she had probably heard those words a few times!
“I’m a very good girl,” she said, playing along with her.
“No you’re not,” said Emily, “You’re not wearing your school uniform!”
“What? I haven’t got a school uniform.”
“Yes you have!” pronounced Emily, “you have to wear one of mine.”
“But your school uniforms will be far too big for me!” This was getting silly.
Emily rushed out the room and came back two minutes later carrying a bundle of clothes.
"This is my old uniform," she announced triumphantly, "It's small enough for you!"
"I am not wearing any stupid school uniform," Tracey was having to get firm.
"I want you to! I want you to!"
Emily starrted screaming and stamping her foot again. Tracey just couldn't think how to stop her.
"All right, all right. I'll put it on," anything to shut the little brat up.
It was a bit embarrassing having to take her dress off, but by this time she'd have done anything just to stop the screaming, and in no time Tracey was standing there in her bra and panties.
"And the knickers, and the knickers," shouted Emily, holding up a pair of navy blue cotton school knickers.
"Certainly not."
"I want you to! I want you to!"
The screaming was starting again. Tracey would have done anything to stop it. She pulled her panties down and grabbed the knickers. She saw Emily's eyes open wide. Tracey kept herself waxed perfectly smooth down below. It was one of her little foibles. As embarrassed as hell she grabbed the knickers, yanked them up and pulled the uniform over her head.
"Happy now?' she asked.
"Naughty girl," said Emily.
"What!"
"Wearing make up to school. Wash it off immediately!"
Tracey knew when she was beaten. she washed the makeup off and then allowed Emily to comb her hair into a girly pony tail.
"Good girl," said Emily, "now get on with your work," she pointed at her homework.
"What!"
"Yes Miss, you have to say 'Yes Miss'."
"Yes Miss."
Suddenly the door bell rang.
"I'll get that," announced Emily.
Tracey was relieved. she didn't want to answer the door dressed in that stupid fashion.
She sat at the desk doing the rather simplistic homework. May as well keep the brat happy. Then the door opened and a tall, smartly dressed young woman, with dark short cropped hair marched into the room.
"Hello Emily," she said, "I'm your new babysitter Miss Pettigrew."
"Oh, you don't understand," said Tracey laughing, "I'm not Emily. I'm Tracey, from Mr Chambers's office; I've been looking after Emily."
"Don't be tiresome Emily," said Miss Pettigrew, "I don't like tiresome little girls."
"No, but really I am."
"Now look here little madame," said Miss Pettigrew, "we'll get things straight from the start shall we. I've heard all about your ways from your father, about your lying, about the silly games you play, and I'm having none of it. He has given me full authority to deal with you as I see fit, and rest assured I will do just that."
At that moment Emily came back into the room. She was dressed just the same, but she was totally different. She wore light makeup. Her hair was up. She walked in an assured grown up way. Her bosom seemed several inches bigger. She looked every bit the assured, well educated young lady.
"I tell you Miss Pettigrew," she said. Her voice had deepened and she sounded like a responsible adult, "She’s been giving me hell ever since I came. She needs a firm hand this one!"
Tracey looked aghast. She'd been tricked! Emily had planned it from the start!
"But.... But... I'm the babysitter. She's Emily."
"Oh yes," said Miss Pettigrew, "and I suppose babysitters always wear little girls' school uniform do they."
Tracey looked from one to the other; well aware of the childish figure she appeared - small, no make-up, pony tailed, with her high pitched voice. All of this confirmed by the silly uniform. Why had she been so stupid! A rising panic grabbed her.
"But I am a grown up. I am!" she shouted. her voice got louder and louder and she found herself actually stamping her foot.
"Little madame!" Shouted Miss Pettigrew, "your father was right when he told me about your temper tantrums. Well I know just how to deal with naughty girls who stamp their feet."
"Well," said the real Emily picking up Tracey's handbag, "I'll be gone now. You'll need to be really firm with this one. She's a real handful!"
"But you can't. You can't!" Tracey found herself screaming.
"Temper temper!" Said Miss Pettigrew.
Paying no attention Tracey lunged at Emily, but Miss Pettigrew grabbed her pinioning her arms to her sides.
"If I were you I'd give her a good spanking," said Emily, "thanks for coming so promptly. I'm off to have a good time."
"Bloody frigging liar," screamed Tracey, except she didn't say 'frigging'.
"That's it," said Miss Pettigrew, "I will not tolerate such language. I will not tolerate beviour like that," and before Tracey knew it Miss Pettigrew had twisted her round and had her over her knee."
"Please Emily, please," Tracey was begging her, but Emily just looked at her and grinned. Tracey went pale, and then bright red. It was the humiliation as much as anything. Miss Pettigrew, big strong Miss Pettigrew, held her fast over her knee.
"Hand me that slipper," she instructed Emily. She was about to administer the hardest spanking the little madame had ever had in her life. On her bare bottom. Miss Pettigrew set great store by the efficacy of a bare bottom spanking.
“Think you can play up your babysitter do you?" she looked across at Emily, "Pull her knickers down will you.”
"Please!" Tracey kicked furiously and screamed, but to no avail.
"Knickers down," Miss Pettigrew instructed again. Emily took hold of her knickers and Tracey was powerless to stop her bottom being bared.
*SPANK*
“OW! But I am the babysitter!” she kicked her legs again, but there was nothing she could do about it.
“You know what happens to liars don’t you?”
*SPANK*
“But I’m not lying. I am the babysitter.”
“They get spanked until they tell the truth. That’s what”
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
“Please. I am the babysitter.”
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
“Who are you?”
“The babysitter.”
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
“I’m Emily,” sobbed Tracey at last, her bottom on fire and no end to the spanking in sight “I’m little Emily, and I’m sixteen years old.”
“I told you so. Do you see, just a little encouragement and you’ll get even the most awkward little madame to tell the truth. How many spanks do you think you should have? Six for every lie, that’s what I think. You lied three times, so that’s eighteen spanks.”
"No, no, I'm sorry. Please!"
She handed the real Emily the slipper.
“Off you go. My arms are getting tired.”
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
*SPANK*
Emily got into a good rhythm straight away. The slipper came down alternately on each cheek of Tracey's glowing red behind. Although she sobbed and bawled and kicked her legs, still the spanks came down.
Eighteen hard spanks - nine on each glowing cheek and with each one she yelled "Please! Sorry!"
"Well," said Emily surveying Tracey's rosy red bottom, with evident satisfaction as the last spank landed, "that was very satisfying. I don't think she'll give you any more trouble now."
And off she went, leaving Tracey alone with Miss Pettigrew.
"Go and stand in the corner."
"What!"
"Go and stand in the corner, or do you want some more of this little madame," and Miss Pettigrew waved the slipper.
Tracey, her bottom still burning, looked at the slipper and considered her chances of making a run for it. But Miss Pettigrew was between her and the door. She wouldn't stand a chance.
She bent over to pull her knickers up.
"Leave your knickers down, your skirt tucked up and stand with your hands on your head."
Poor Tracey had no option. She stood in the corner while Miss Pettigrew busied around the room tidying things up.
Suddenly the door bell rang again. Traceys heart gave a leap. Would this be her chance to escape!
"Don't you dare move an inch little madame," declared Miss Pettigrew and she left the room locking the door behind her. Tracey's heart sank. There was no chance of escape. She stood waiting, hands on head, her hot red bottom on display.
In marched Miss Pettigrew followed by a callow youth with sleek black hair. Tracey immediately recognised Rupert Chambers, Mr Chambers favourite nephew, who hung about the firm pretending to work. Tracey had continuously had to reprimand him for laziness and incompetence. Yet here he was her saviour. He would tell Miss Pettigrew who she was and the real Emily would be in for big trouble!
"Rupert!" she cried, "thank goodness you're here. Tell this dreadful woman who I am."
Rupert looked at Tracey's bright red bottom with evident satisfaction and smiled.
"You're my little cousin Emily," he said, "and I see you've been very naughty again."
"Rupert!" Tracey looked at him in dismay. All hopes dashed again.
"She's been very naughty indeed," simpered Miss Pettigrew, obviously turned weak at the knees by the sight of a man, "and now it's a cold bath and bed for her with no supper."
"Quite right too Miss Pettigrew.
"Frigging liar! Frigging liar," shouted Tracey, although she didn't say 'frigging'.
"That's enough of that young lady!" said Miss Pettigrew, picking up the slipper again.
Tracey was suddenly aware of her red bottom again, and aware she was out numbered. She didn't want another spanking
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"Say it properly. Say 'Sorry Miss Pettigrew'."
"Sorry Miss Pettigrew."
"As if you mean it."
"Sorry Miss Pettigrew," she tried to sound as if she meant it.
"And apologise to Mr Rupert as well."
Tracey looked at the smirking Rupert.
"Sorry Mr Rupert."
"Right," said Miss Pettigrew, "Time for your bath. A cold bath. Naughty girls don't get hot baths. You can scrub her down Rupert."
"He can't do that! I'll have nothing on."
"Don't be such a madame. You're only a little girl. No need to be precious. I've never heard of such a thing. Mr Rupert won't mind seeing you with no clothes on "
"I won't do it. I won't" said Tracey.
"Oh dear. Grab her arms Rupert, she's going to be difficult,” Miss Pettigrew gave the instruction.
Tracey found her arms were grabbed from behind and the next thing she knew the uniform had been pulled over her head, and her navy blue knickers had been pulled off. In two minutes she was stark naked. Poor Tracey, a twenty-four year old legal associate, stood stark naked in front of her junior colleague. The horrible truth dawned on her. She was the baby and she was being babysat. It was excruciatingly humiliating.
Tracey was pushed into the bathroom. The bath had already been filled with freezing cold water.
“In you go.”
“No please.”
“In you go!” Tracey saw Miss Pettigrew pick up the slipper and realised her bottom was still very bare. Shivering, and covered in goose bumps, she stepped into the freezing water and lay down.
"Well Little Madame, "you don't get out till you apologize again.
Naked and freezing she had no option.
"Sorry Miss Pettigrew!"
She had made a decision. she would make a run for it. It seemed to be her only chance. With Miss Pettigrew convinced that she was the ‘Little Madame’ she was babysitting she could see she was going to be trapped there all night if she didn’t make a move. She would have to await her opportunity though.
“Let me see you get washed then,” Miss Pettigrew was still in charge. She made Tracey stand up in the bath and wash herself down. Then she handed the scrubbing brush to Rupert.
“Scrub her down,” she said, “Everywhere, and I mean everywhere, until she’s pink and glowing. That’ll teach her to behave.”
What could Tracey do? she had no clothes on, and they were bigger than her. She had to suffer the total humiliation of being scrubbed down by the boy she bullied in the office. Rupert smirked. Inflicting the humiliation was clearly what he enjoyed most.
"Bend over," he said.
Scrubbing her nice round pink and very bare bottom was perhaps what he enjoyed the second most.
It was when Rupert was handed the towel to dry her off that Tracey's plan seemed to fall apart.
“To bed with no clothes on Little Madame,” said Miss Pettigrew
They weren't letting her have her clothes back!
"Legs apart," said Rupert.
No! He wanted to dry between her legs! Dry that most delicate and personal part of a girl's anatomy. And she was going to have to let him. Her plan depended on it. It would keep Rupert occupied, and that was what was important.
She stood with her legs wide apart.
"Ooh! Ooooh! Oooooooooh!"
He wasn't rubbing hard, just gently tickling, and it's very difficult for a girl not to go, ""Ooh! Ooooh! Oooooooooh!" when her smooth, pink and very bare whatsit is being tickled.
(Don't you agree girls? Yes, I know you like to read these stories and I know you go "Ooh! Ooooh! Oooooooooh!" when you have your bare whatsit tickled!)
Tracey knew she was going to have to escape in the nude. She knew there was nothing for it. If she could just get out the house, nude or not, she would make it back.
She saw her chance, Rupert was occupied with her whatsit and as quick as a flash as she was out the bathroom and down the stairs. She had a good head start on them before they realised what was happening. Then she was out the door and into the street.
Mr and Mrs Chambers were just getting out of their chauffeur driven Limo as Tracey ran down the path.
"Ah there you are!" said Mr Chambers eyeing a completely nude Tracey from head to toe and licking his lips, "how nice to, how shall I put this, see you."
Tracey's blush started at her knees and spread rapidly north, not omitting those parts which most attracted Mr Chambers' gaze, until she glowed like a ripe tomato.
"It's very strange," he said, "but that's exactly what happened to the last babysitter."