The Best Babysitter in Town Ch. 7 (reposted with photos)

Gordy wasn’t in any hurry to get off my lap, which was for the best. If he had stood up, he’d probably have gotten the floor and me a wet. At least that sort of answered the mystery of whether he constantly dribbles or empties himself all at once. He just laid draped over my lap having himself a cry, and I let him. What was the rush, right? Only when his tears started to taper off did I ask, “Are you ready to sit up now?”

“Uh-(sniffle)-huh. I’m sorry,” he groaned.

“Don’t be sorry. That’s what diapers are for.”

“I’m sorry you had to … I’m sorry I needed a spanking.”

O … Did he even know he had just wet himself? Does he ever know? I didn’t know what he could and couldn’t feel or control down there. Maybe he couldn’t feel himself wetting on my lap, or maybe he could feel the warmth and wetness under him but just didn’t in the midst of all the other sensations and feelings he was experiencing inside and out.

“That’s okay. It’s over. You got your consequence, and it’s over. Here.” I helped him stand up and got my first good look at his red, tear-streaked face. If ever a boy needed to blow his nose.

One thing I know from babysitting is some kids, when they get in trouble, will make themselves feel much worse about it, and it’s important to reassure them that once their consequence is over, they’re not in trouble anymore and are still loved. I’d have given him a hug if he weren’t twenty years old and naked. I know I had before his spanking, but now with his spanking over, it just didn’t seem okay to do without his permission.

“What does your stepmom usually do right after she spanks you?”

“She (sob) she leaves me a-(sob)-lone for a while.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” I figured he would. After everything that had just happened, as embarrassed as he must have been, if I were in his shoes, I’d just want to be alone, sulk for while, and compose myself. Instead, he made a face even a mediocre babysitter would recognize as the one kiddos of all ages, including freshly spanked twenty-year-olds apparently, make before they start crying all over again. He didn’t want to be alone, or maybe he just wanted to be with me; either way, it caught me off guard.

“Okay,” I said before his tears started in earnest again. “That’s okay. There’s no need for more tears. I’ll stay. Here,” I said and taped up the diaper pinched between his thighs. Much too big for him and would probably fall off if he tried waddling in it for ten feet, but it was only five feet to his bed. “Do you wanna just sit together?”

As a matter of fact, no, he didn’t want to sit. I guess that should’ve been obvious. He was, however, comfortable laying on his side as I sat next to him. “I’m sorry I had to give you such a hard spanking. I didn’t want to. Do you believe me?”

“Mhmm.” Well, that made me feel much better, sort of. Not really, actually. I didn’t want to do that to him. It was a rush for me; I felt sort of ashamed for liking it in any way. And it worried me, the way he was still sniffling and letting a tear here and there go. I guess I expected a quicker recovery.

“I only did it because you asked me to, and because if I didn’t your stepmom might have spanked you even harder.”

“I kn-know.” Poor thing was still trying to get his diaphragm to stop cramping from all that hard sobbing he did.

“Are you okay? Did I spank too hard?” He shook his head. Wouldn’t be the first boy I’ve sat for who didn’t want to admit to me that he was hurting. They all think they’re so tough, or at least think they’re supposed to be. “Are you telling me the truth?” He nodded.

It struck me how chill, other than the sobbing he did over my knee, he was about the whole thing. I’d have been angry at the world, but he seemed calmer than when he was about to go over my knee. And it didn’t escape my notice that he’d said, ‘I’m sorry I needed a spanking.’ I thought we were both in agreement he didn’t need it, that he hadn’t done anything wrong (not really), and that the whole getting spanked at his age thing was ridiculous.

But on the other hand, he did seem to believe he needed consequences in his life, even to the point of accepting, if not wanting, the kind of consequence he’d just gotten. Accepting it to the point that he accepted not just the consequence but getting it when he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve it. He insisted he didn’t like getting spanked, and after the tears he’d shed, I believed him.

If my own dominant streak came as a realization out of nowhere when I’d smacked him on the butt in the kitchen, his submissive streak became clear when he apologized for needing a spanking he didn’t even think he’d earned. I guess a part of him, not so very deep down, maybe just trusted that if the most important woman in his life, the one who’d always decided these things, thought he’d earned a spanking, then he really did need one even if he didn’t think he’d done anything. Or I could be overanalyzing him. In any case, he’d been very cooperative for a twenty-year-old college student getting turned over a knee like a little boy getting a spanking.

“May I rub please,” he asked. See what I mean about submissive?

“Rub what? O! Of course.” Was he actually not allowed to do that after a spanking? If so, his stepmom is just a freak. Talk about crossing the line from stepmonster to freak. He reached behind himself and rubbed his bottom through the oversized diaper, crinkling with each motion.

I didn’t think it could be helping much through his diaper. He reminded me of a puppy someone forgot to bring in from the rain, big sad eyes and looking so pathetic it’s cute. “O, sweetie. Here.” I untaped the diaper for him and pulled it away from him in back but left it covering him in front. “Poor little lamb … Is it alright if I give you a hug?”

He turned toward me and made bambi eyes. He so very badly needed a hug, if he said no, I had half a mind to hug him anyway. I mean, if I can spank his bottom, surely I had authority to hug him after doing it. Of course not really, but it felt like I did.

He nodded, and I eased myself down to my side facing him and put my arm over him. He didn’t hug me back, maybe because he was too bashful, but probably just because his hand was busy rubbing his butt, which only made him seem smaller. Literally butt hurt and holding his owie like any of the three-year-olds I sit for.

“You were very brave,” I told him, another thing that seemed like the thing to say to someone after a big cry, but more so if the someone was much younger. Still, I didn’t think about it; it just came out naturally, and anyway, I felt I had to say something to make him feel better, what with me being the one to make him cry that hard in the first place. Maybe he really was very brave; it was my first time spanking anyone, let alone someone my age, so it’s not like I had a frame of reference. Maybe he’d actually cried less than … well, some theoretical twenty-year-old who also still gets spanked. I suspect there’s a very good chance he’s literally the only one in the entire state. But I could confidently say he was the bravest twenty-year-old I’d ever spanked.

“I don’t like crying,” he responded.

“Sometimes it feels good though, right, to let it all out? I cry sometimes.” Though, to be clear, not like that. “Besides, you’ve had such a tough week, all those yucky feelings. If anyone deserved to have a good cry, it’s you.” And while I haven’t cried like he had in a very long time, I think if I’d been rejected for a date, had a very personal secret revealed, been publicly humiliated, and then gotten in serious trouble for how I’d responded, I’d have had a meltdown even without the spanking.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Do you want some alone time, or do you wanna stay like this for a while? Or do you want to go wash your face?”

“I wanna go wash my face.”

“Okay.” I’ve sent the little tykes I sit for off to the bathroom with a pat on the butt before, but aside from Gordy not being a little tyke, I didn’t think he’d appreciate a swat, however gentle, just right then. As it was, he drew a sharp breath when he stood up. “Gordon,” I said to show I meant business without getting stern again, “are you sure I didn’t spank you too hard?”

He didn’t blush, or maybe he did and I couldn’t tell because he’d just been crying. “No, you didn’t. I’m used to it.” I couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure me or brag about his tolerance for pain, but he didn’t impress me and didn’t reassure me. He looked down at the diaper still tucked between his thighs. “May I, um …”

“Yeah, here,” I said and reached out and took it, balling it up. He started toward the bathroom, and I threw the diaper away and put his desk chair back in. I’m not sure why, but for some reason, I decided to follow him down the hall.

He’d left the bathroom door open, and I asked before turning the corner, “Can I come in?”

“Um … I guess.”

“I thought you were washing your face,” I said because the sink wasn’t running.

“I was, uh, just about to.” We exchanged an odd look. It wasn’t that he wasn’t washing his face; it was the way he made it seem seem like I’d caught him at something. “I was, uh, looking.”

“At what?”

“My … butt.”

“O!” I was brand new to giving spankings; Gordy looking at his butt hadn’t occurred to me, and when he said it, it just struck my funny bone. I tried not to laugh. I really tried.

“What,” he said.

“Noth … nothing. Hrrm! Mmm – nothing. A-hmm. Sorry … Ha!”

“It’s not funny.”

“I – pbbbt! – know. I’m not – heee! – laughing – hrrrm! – at you. I prom – hrrrm! – mise. Ahem. I promise.” I really wasn’t; poor guy had been laughed at enough. Lucky for both of us, he believed me. Even better, laughter is infectious.

“It’s not funny,” he said as he started to chuckle.

“So you do smile. I was wondering if I was gonna see one of those tonight.” I stepped around him to the tub and turned the tap on. It was bath night for him, and if he was going to stay up past his early bedtime, better he should get his bath first; then we could watch a movie or something. I spotted a washcloth hanging from the shower caddy and wet it under the faucet.

“Come here,” I told him. “Look up for me.”

“I can do it,” he said.

“O, shush. Look up for me.” He obediently did, and I wiped the tear streaks off his cheeks.

That’s when I had myself a little epiphany – I was flirting with him. I was flirting with Gordy, the boy who wears diapers, that I grew up with and was going to college with, and had just spanked to a weepy mess.

My turn to be embarrassed. “Um,” I said very cleverly, “you wanna blow your nose on this too?” I offered him the washcloth, and very glad to not be looking him in the eye, I sent my gaze toward the floor.

It didn’t quite get there. Because my gaze got caught on Gordy’s erection.