Babysitter's Blues

“Daddy!” the little boy said with a giggle as the door opened, and he ran towards his very confused father. His equally confused mum came followed in and closed the door.

“James? Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked, worried.

James giggled and threw his arms up with a big, adoring smile. His father lifted him up in his arms after putting his own coat away, and began searching through the house for the babysitter. There was a half-eaten pizza still on the sofa, James’s toys were strewn everywhere, the TV was on, showing some cartoons. Belinda Krüger, the babysitter, was nowhere to be found.

“Belinda?” the father called, “Belinda, where are you?” There was no answer but a noise upstairs caught his attention. He gave the boy to his mother and went up the stairs immediately, at once angry and worried. Was it a burglar? Had something happened to Belinda? The lights were on in the upstairs corridor, the doors all closed.

He paused and listened. A giggle came out of the spare bedroom and he moved in closer to the door, quietly. Another giggle. His worries burned away, leaving only anger, and he almost kicked the door open. As he’d suspected, the girl was there, with whom appeared to be a very surprised young man.

“Oh mein Gott!” Belinda screamed, startled, as her boyfriend tried desperately to pull his jeans up. The father spared him but a glance.

“Out!” he said, pointing a finger at him and then at the door. He was trying his best to keep his voice down so as not to worry his young son. “Out now!”

The boyfriend hurried himself out without a word, leaving Belinda on the bed, mortified, looking down at the floor.

“I…” she started, then closed her mouth, not knowing what to say.

“Yes?” he said with a glare, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry Mr. Jones, I…”

“How old are you again, Belinda?”

“I… Twenty five, Herr, wh...”

“And you think that leaving a four year old on his own in front of a TV is a responsible kind of behaviour? Do you think that’s acceptable? Is that what we pay you for?”

Her blush intensified and she mumbles a little “No Herr…”

“What was that?”

“No, Herr… I’m sorry…”

“Sorry… You’re going to be sorry. Come downstairs. Right now,” he said, and took a step back against the door, freeing the doorway. She blushed and chewed on her lip a little.

“Yes, Mr Jones… It’s just that… I…” She paused, “I’m not wearing any trousers…”

He sneered, “Don’t worry about that, Belinda, you won’t need them, believe me…”

What followed was a long, hard lesson taught firmly over Mr. Jones’ knees. Mrs Jones, having finally put James into bed, came back to scold her while the slaps continued to pour down on her already crimson buttocks. Tears streamed down her face as she cried pitiful sorries to no avail.

When her bruised cheeks were finally given a rest, she was sent to the corner of the living room and told that she would have to clean up all the mess that she had left with her red, punished bottom on display before she’d be allowed to get her trousers back. She did as she was told, still sniffling and rubbing her round buttocks until she was finally handed her jeans. She winced and moaned softly as she pulled the rough fabric over her tender behind.

She stood by the door, about to leave, her head bowed.

“I’m really sorry, Mr and Mrs Jones…” she said coyly.

“A lesson only has value if it’s learnt, Belinda,” the father said.

She unconsciously rubbed her backside with a pout. “I’ve learnt my lesson, Herr…”

“I hope so,” he said and closed the door behind her.