A young babysitter pays a heavy price for her big mistake.
All persons portrayed as engaging in sexual activity are eighteen or over
Prologue
Mrs. Taylor seems to tower over me. She is a tall woman anyway; at least five feet ten inches, and in those boots with the long spiked heels she seems even taller. One of those spiked heels is digging into my left buttock rather painfully.
I am kneeling on the floor of the cellar in the Taylor's upmarket townhouse feeling very uncomfortable and very vulnerable indeed. In the semi-darkness I can see all sorts of strange, infernal machines. There are restraints, chains, shackles and a rack of cruel looking whips. I haven't a clue what most of them are or how they work, but I have a fair idea that I am going to be finding out soon enough.
I had come tonight to babysit for the Taylors and not to put too fine a point on it, I had fucked up royally.
And I am now going to pay for it.
She raises the long, thin whip above her head.
I screw my eyes tightly shut, grit my teeth and wait for my ordeal to begin.
I... Own... You...
It started like any other day and I ended it a different person.
I had finished school a few weeks earlier and was looking forward to going to University in a couple of months if my grades allowed. I may have done all the other things that late-teenagers do, but I had worked hard. I'm not going to say I was a walk-in but I was pretty confident I'd get what I needed.
Then I could fly the nest and begin to really try out some of the things I had been learning over the last few months. I couldn't wait. There was nothing wrong with my home life; we lived in a comfortable house in a good neighbourhood and I had a nice big bedroom with a lovely garden view.
The main problems were my younger brother and sister. My parents were social animals - they were out a lot. I was starting to have certain feelings about boys rather a lot. My kid sis and bro' stayed in a lot. As a result, I ended up frustrated a lot.
It was impossible to have anyone back and I had to keep very quiet when I was tucked up on my own. I also had to be careful not to leave any telltale signs on the sheets. I realised very early on that I generate a lot of natural lubricant. I'm sure Mum must have twigged when I offered to do my own washing. Thank God my friend Sally's folks were away a lot at their villa in Spain otherwise I'd have gone stir-crazy. I think you can see where I am coming from when I say I was dying to get my own place. The Uni's I had applied to meant I'd be well out of the firing line for four years so I could wait another couple of months.
The girls all took the piss out of me for it, babysitting at my age. Yes, it was boring, but it paid well and I made sure it had a few little side benefits. At least I didn't have pissed up lads leering at me like poor old Sally when she did her evening bar work. Or the dull monotony of the supermarket check-out that awaited Danni and Linz three days a week. And don't get me started on Steph in her fast-food outlet. The poor cow had to be in the shower for a week before we let her out on the pull with us, and even then she stank like month-old stale chicken fat. I'm sure she left a puddle of it on the seat of her Dad's car when he picked her up. Once Steph got that job, I made sure that the only 'finger lickin' good' things that passed my lips were made somewhere very deep inside my own nether regions.
I had been babysitting for the Taylors for a while now and it was money for old rope. Ryan was a placid little thing and was rarely any trouble. Most nights I never even saw him - just a few gurgles from the baby alarm to say all was well, letting me get on with the sort of things that babysitters maybe shouldn't really do.
I rocked up to their huge house on the edge of town at the usual time with my little overnight bag full of a few things to enliven an otherwise tedious evening. The slight difference tonight was that I was staying over as the Taylor's were heading out of town for a party and had booked an hotel for the night. I didn't mind - they were paying me treble and I'd have a chance to smoke on their patio again and raid their extensive drinks cabinet. I also had a little pocket vibe in there for later on when I was tucked up in their guest room with my tablet and a few favourite websites. Oh, and a towel to catch the inevitable overspill.
The Taylors were a nice couple and I had always got on with them. They had relocated to London a few years before and were more or less settled there. The house was huge and the garage was almost as big as our four-bedroomed place a mile or so down the road. Their baby had been born here and Mrs. Taylor had mentioned applying for citizenship. I always thought that they wouldn't look out of place in an American courtroom or hospital drama series, but I remembered the truth was much more tedious - they were something to do with banking in the City. It made me yawn just to think of it, but judging from the opulence of their home, it paid well.
Paige Taylor was a looker, no doubt about it. I'd say she was about thirty five, tall, elegant and always immaculately dressed. Tonight she looked sensational in a simple black cocktail dress and lovely red and black stilettos with ankle straps. Her normally short fluffy bob of dark hair was slicked to her head with gel and it suited her.
Jacob was a tall, brooding man with short fair hair and a chiselled jaw. I'd have put him a little older than his wife, maybe around forty. I'd not really had much to do with him, mainly dealing with Mrs. Taylor, but I always got the impression he was appraising me when he looked at me. To be honest, he was worth appraising himself and I'd be lying if I said he hadn't flashed into my mind during some of my more 'personal' moments.
Little did I know at that stage how Mrs. Paige Taylor had been making her living since giving birth to Ryan some eight months previously, but the way things played out, I was soon to find out.
As for Ryan, he was a real little cutie and as I said, never any bother. Once they put him down, he was usually out for the count. I hoped he would be good tonight as I was planning to be a busy girl.
Mrs. Taylor was buzzing around as ever, making last minute adjustments to herself and fussing around upstairs in the baby's room whilst Mr. Taylor was getting the car out of the garage. I don't know much about cars, but even to my untutored eye, it was clear that the big, low-slung yellow sports car did not come cheap. There was a 4x4 next to it that they used when they had the baby with them and a Smart car she used for local runs.
Mrs. Taylor swept by me in a haze of expensive and exquisite perfume and gave me a peck on the cheek. "He's out for the count, so you should be ok for a while! Back about eleven in the morning, Georgia honey. Got everything written down on the pad for you and you know the number just in case."
"Ok Mrs. Taylor, have a great evening and see you tomorrow."
She rushed off waving. "Be good!" I heard a crunch of big tyres on the gravel and the throaty roar of an engine and began to plan my evening.
It was a bit early for a proper drink, so I went out onto the rear patio with a glass of lemonade and the ever-present baby alarm. I lit a cigarette and looked at it tentatively. I still wasn't sure if I liked them or not, but I was certainly getting a liking for something else I had hidden in my bag. I'd begged a couple of ready-made ones from Sally that morning as I was hopeless at rolling them myself.
But that was for later, so I dived into my fave social apps and caught up with a few friends who were out on the razz and taking the piss out of poor little Georgia for being all by herself. When I mentioned the amount I was earning, a few of them shut up. Then the inevitable pictures started rolling in of various girlfriends in pubs and bars enjoying themselves, so I decided that enough was enough. I disposed of my cigarette discreetly and went back inside to watch one of the dramas that the Taylors should have been starring in.
God, I was bored. Ok the money was good, but I really wanted to be out with the girls. I wanted to be ogling boys, picking one out for later and hopefully getting more than a five minute fumble in the back bedroom of Sally's place. Her folks were away again so no doubt once she got going later, she'd be letting me know in fine detail what she was up to. I'd probably end up with a few intimate selfies from her as usual. I mean there has to be a limit of how many pictures you can see of your bestie sucking cock without wanting to throw up.
At least the drama got me through another hour and the baby alarm remained nice and silent. I decided it was time for a little drink and definitely time to get a little mellow.
I opened the drinks cabinet and poured myself a nice large vodka from the bottle that looked like it was the fullest and least likely to be noticed. I'd brought my own mixer, so I felt a little more virtuous than maybe I should. Kicking off my sandals, I went back out onto the patio and lit up, immediately relaxing as the weed did its work. It took every ounce of my limited supply of will-power not to start sliding my hand down the waistband of my shorts. That was going to have to wait for later. I spent a very enjoyable fifteen minutes in the last of the evening sunshine before it dipped behind the trees and went back inside feeling considerably more chilled than I had before. I was just heading back to the drinks cabinet when I heard my Skype notification go off.
My heart sank. I only use Skype for talking to Mrs. Taylor. My chilled demeanour changed instantly as I read her message.
'Hey Georgia - just checked the webcam feed from Ryan's room - see you have taken him out of bed. Just checking if everything is ok?'
I looked at it in shock. I hadn't bothered to check the webcam at all - the baby alarm had been silent all night and that had seemed good enough for me. In a blind panic, I ran upstairs to his room and as I opened the door, my blood ran cold.
The cot was empty and the bedroom window was wide open. The net curtain flapped in the breeze and his little Winnie-the-Pooh mobile twirled merrily above the empty cot; the smiling, happy cartoon figures completely at odds with the scene I was witnessing. I crossed to the window half expecting to see a ladder propped there but there was no sign of anything. I tried the sides of the cot and they were locked in place. I looked under it - only a forgotten, dust covered comforter.
I tried to take in the consequences. Eight month old Ryan Taylor had somehow completely disappeared in the two hours between the Taylor's leaving and their stupid little babysitter sitting on their porch smoking weed and drinking vodka.
