SubscribeStar Story: The Babysitter, Part 36

Find previous parts here

Part 36

I hadn’t been blind to the fact that my bed had been stripped, nor had I forgotten that I had wet myself overnight.

It’s more that I had been busy making sure no one would waltz into my room, and had only peripherally noticed the mattress until I was safely half dressed. Now that I was actually looking at it, I flushed at the thought of how this all must look to Noelle. It was one thing to be treated like a rebellious teenager; even if I was perceived to be Miley, however, the average girl her age wouldn’t have an accident like that. Plus now I had something new to worry about. If someone barged into my room, it was no longer just about whether I was dressed or not. The sight of my mattress would cause its own problems.

For a moment, I froze in indecision. Maybe covering that spot was more pressing than putting on clothes? But I wasn’t sure how to cover it, at least not in a way that wouldn’t annoy Noelle. I was caught trying to balance a ‘what-if’ in regards to my sister against how Miley’s babysitter could just as easily be the one to open the door. Throwing my towel or something else onto the mattress could potentially add to her cleaning job, which would make for a worse start to our morning.

Either way, I couldn’t just stand there. If Paige did strut in without knocking, I didn’t want to be caught both half dressed and with a clear visual of how I wet the bed. With that in mind, I made a snap decision to cover up the alleged accident with my towel. I didn’t want to risk it, especially since I had no idea if Noelle was going to be gone for another thirty seconds or ten minutes. Plus finding a suitable outfit would take a lot longer when a good portion of my clothes were missing.

I had no idea what I was going to wear. Definitely not one of the youthful dresses or blouses that had been added to my closet. And though I had avoided the pinks and purples in my underwear drawer, that’s almost all there was in the t-shirt/tank top department. The girls had particularly leaned into pink when filling my drawers, and the rest was painfully bright. If they weren’t covered in pee, I would have considered the black shorts I had worn to bed. While I wasn’t thrilled about wearing pink, as it was more unattractive due to my size than it was attractive when paired with my hair, maybe darker bottoms would create a decently sharp combination.

After looking through each stack multiple times, I ended up settling on something that was more or less the reverse of what Paige had brought down for me to wear yesterday. White jean shorts and a light blue tank top. Not amazing in terms of trying to visually show that I was an eighteen year old, but also not terrible. Apparently that was the bar I was working with, at least until I figured out where most of my real wardrobe was.

Thankfully, Noelle was taking a while. It wouldn’t have taken that long to toss my dirty sheets in the washer, which made me a little nervous in terms of why she wasn’t back yet, though I was also grateful I had time to get dressed without being rushed or having to be seen in underwear that was a far cry from what I normally wore.

Just about when I was wondering if I should put on socks or not after getting dressed, she gave two firm knocks to the door. “Miley? I’m coming in.” Assertive enough that there was no arguing the action, yet just enough warning in case I wasn’t decent or something. Upon entering, she closed the door behind her. Following through on how she said this would stay between us, provided I behaved. She gave a skeptical look to the mattress, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she gestured to my desk. “Come sit down, Miley. We need to have a little chat.”

I wasn’t about to protest against something that simple. According to her, this morning was my chance to start fresh. Noelle had proved numerous times that she could reprimand me, and there was nothing I could do about it despite my real age. She had an advantage in both size and experience. Between behaving to her standards and trying to solve this mortifying mix-up, I was starting to lean towards the former more often than not. The worst part was, acting like a reformed girl wasn’t that far off from my everyday self. Yet anything would look more mature than being spanked over Noelle’s lap, so it’s not like it was much of a choice.

My only real issue with my desk is that the embarrassment of writing lines was pretty fresh. The pages were still sitting there; I had only made it to 500 before Noelle decided it was enough. Or, more likely, that my hair was dry enough for her to put me to bed.

When I had crossed the room and taken a seat, Noelle repeated a portion of our previous conversation. “Just to be clear, you didn’t wet the bed on purpose?”

Immediately flushing, I replied, “No!” Like before, my answer more or less implied that it had, in fact, been an accident.

“Okay,” she said, “Well, there’s nothing on your file about bedwetting, and your mother didn’t mention anything before her trip. So, is this a problem you’ve been keeping from her?”

“It’s not a problem,” I insisted. Although I wasn’t the real Miley, I could see where Noelle’s logic was coming from. If a girl with Miley’s reputation was a frequent bedwetter, I imagine she’d do whatever it took to keep anyone from finding out. Even family. Heck, it didn’t have to be some rebellious teenager. I’d probably do the exact same thing. Keeping it from Paige would require keeping it from my parents. “It just-” I so badly wanted to blame my sister. Today was about choosing battles, however. Without proof, I wasn’t about to risk a spanking, more lines, or some other punishment I had yet to be surprised with. “It just happened . . . ” I muttered.

“Okay,” Noelle echoed. It was one of those non-committal responses that didn’t give away what she was thinking in the slightest. “Can you read one of those lines for me?” she asked, nodding to the desk behind me.

After so many iterations of writing them, I definitely didn’t need the stack of pages behind me for reference. At the same time, I didn’t want her to see how effective the task had been in searing the phrases into my mind. So I turned and took the top sheet and hesitantly read off, “My name is Miley. I am a well behaved girl who always tells the truth.” It sounded so awkward out loud, and in my own voice.

“Good,” she nodded, “Let’s focus on that middle part. You’re a well behaved girl, right? Especially after a good night’s rest?”

As Alyssa, yes. I was a well behaved girl. It hit differently when being treated like Miley, of course. “Uh huh,” I affirmed.

“I want you to say it, Miley.”

“I’m a well behaved girl . . . ”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes. Of course.”

She crossed her arms and looked down at me. Our height difference was exaggerated enough when we were standing face to face, but I felt extra small while I was seated while she was on her feet. “Okay, then,” she said, “I’m going to give you a chance to prove it. If you’re as well behaved as you claim to be, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. My silence alone felt like I was writing a blank check. However, there wasn’t anything I could say to the contrary, either. I just had to sit there in suspense while I waited to hear whatever she had in mind.

“Here’s the deal, Miley. I have a personal babysitting rule that anyone who wets the bed is required to wear pull-ups the following day. Normally it’s a ‘better safe than sorry’ precaution for younger girls.”

There was no way she was suggesting that a rule like that would apply to me. The follow-up explanation gave me a bit of relief, however. “But I’m not a younger girl,” I quickly pointed out. If she was telling me this, was she actually considering the idea? “And-”

“Please don’t interrupt me,” she curtly said, “For you, I’ve decided to compromise. I have some pull-ups that should fit you, and you’re going to wear them this morning. That much is non-negotiable.” Briefly pausing to let that sink in, she continued, “Show me that you can be a proper young lady for an extended period of time when you put your mind to it, and you can take them off after lunch. Fair?”

NO. Not fair!

In theory, sure. I could see what she was getting at. Changing back into panties was a pretty strong motivator. Except for the fact that I was eighteen years old, and being put into babyish underwear would be humiliating. Not to mention that for hours, I would be terrified of Paige somehow finding out. “But, Noelle . . . ” I trailed off. It was tough to think of a mature response, because she had totally set me up. I just insisted that I was a well behaved girl, and she had also made a point to mention that this wasn’t going to be a discussion. If the tall brunette could spank me minutes after arriving at our house, she could certainly make me put on alternative underwear.

She knew it, too. If I didn’t go along with it, I would both suffer the consequences and end up doing what she wanted afterwards anyway. “Yes, Miley?” she calmly asked.

Was I really about to agree to this? Noelle wasn’t pressuring me that hard, yet her non-confrontational demeanor was almost more effective than if she were taking a more assertive approach. If I tried to argue, chances were I would seem more like the difficult brat she believed me to be.

Stuck in that same frustrating spot as usual, where both obeying and disobeying worked against me, I glanced away and said, “Never mind.”

“So you’ll wear them, yes?” she asked.

Read more of “The Babysitter” (75+ parts) and other exclusive stories on my SubscribeStar!