Child Minding

by Qu

Mrs Olivia Shill fixed her cool, deep blue eyes on me, her rose red lips set in a purposeful line. "How much?" She asked, indicating her two children standing behind her. "How much to look after them all day?"

I looked past her -- not easy as she was a beautiful woman with an astonishingly low cut top for someone who worked in the city's leading stockbrokerage -- at her two kids. Brats, I prefer to call them. Six year old Rick and seven year old Connie, the two monkeys who had pounded up and down all day and most of the night in the apartment over mine, wailing and screaming. I stared at them and they stared back at me with what looked like a sneer on their little angelic faces, framed by a mass of blond hair. Two kids from hell who I hated, and they probably knew it.

"Where's your regular babysitter?" I turned my attention back to Olivia, just as one of the little bastards put its tongue out at me. I fixed my gaze on the woman's face, trying hard not to look down the woman's cleavage as it yawned before me. I guessed Olivia knew I had a real job not to stare at her tits. I don't know what else she would have expected from a 26 year old healthy male, but I kept my eyes on hers.

"She called in sick," she said with a shrug. The kind of shrug that says she didn't believe it either, and wouldn't see her again. I had seen this childminder; a fat, harrassed woman called Rosanna toiling with the kids up the stairs - and I could imagine her reaching the end of her wits with these monsters. And now their mother wanted me to look after them.

And how much was it worth to me? A thousand dollars a day, I wondered?

"Name your price," said Olivia, before I could speak. "I have to get to the office. It's really important I'm there. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

A thousand dollars important? I doubted it. I was tempted to close the door and leave Mrs Shill to deal with her own unruly offspring. Ideally out of my sight and hearing so I could get on with my work.

"Look. It isn't money. I'm a writer," I explained (though she knew that). "I have my work to do and my publisher says--"

"You're home all day," she cut in, an edge in her voice. Desperation, I reckoned. Or determination. "I need someone," she added. I looked back at the kids and saw them glare up at me. I decided, right on the spur to have some fun.

"Sure. But Mrs Shill, you wouldn't pay what I charge. It isn't money, believe me."

She didn't move, not even bat her eyelids. Cool, I'll give her that; a negotiator of some experience, clearly. "You want something from me."

Of course I did. A damn good fuck, but that would be unlikely to happen, even if her husband had long gone. I knew she kept her pants on to maintain her power. "Let's say I want something from them." I nodded at the two brats, the girl pulling the boy's hair. The mother didn't look round at the latest squeals and cries.

"Look after them all day and you can do whatever." She still didn't blink, she didn't turn round as the noise increased behind her.

"You don't understand," I said as coldly as I could. "I'm after revenge."

She looked at me, one eyebrow raised and waited for me to elaborate. Behind her, one of the brats started to hit the other. "Revenge on your kids," I continued. "Believe me, if I looked after them in here I'd have to punish them for what they do. What they are. I really don't like them, Mrs Shill and I would make them suffer."

I expected her to explode in rage, or slap me, or storm off, or threaten to call the cops. Whatever indignation seemed most appropriate. But she didn't move. I wondered, just for a moment if she had heard me correctly.

She had. She sighed and said "I prefer you call me Olivia," opening her purse and taking out a business card. "My number," she said. "Call me if they don't behave as you want."

I didn't reach for the card. "Mrs Sh... I mean, Olivia," I began, "I said I wanted revenge and that means doing what I want to them, all day. They'd behave because they would have no choice. Even if I have to spank them and, um, tie them to a chair."

No shock on her face. She didn't withdraw the offer of the card, and in fact pushed it closer to me. "No penetrative sex, no broken bones, no scars," she said, with a business-like air. "Other than that they're yours until I get them. I'll pick them up at seven."

She was calling my bluff I guessed but I was determined not to back down. One of the brats was crying behind her but she didn't look round. Clearly that would be my problem in a few minutes as she was eager to go. I took a deep breath and pressed on. "I can't promise they won't have bruises," I said, wondering quite where I was getting the confidence from to say this in front of the children's mother.

"Providing they're not visible, I don't care. Nothing that I would have to explain to a doctor, okay?" The card was against my stomach, urgent. "I have to go," she said, with all the finality of closing a deal. "We'll settle the finances later."

I took the card and she was gone, leaving one crying child and the other whimpering over something the other one had done in return.

I looked at the children and wondered what the hell I did now. I thought, just for a moment, I could shut the door and leave them outside. Let them fend for themselves. But that wouldn't be as much fun as punishing them, would it?

Perhaps Olivia didn't really think I'd do what I'd said. Perhaps in the business world she toughed out any threats, and that was why she was a winner. But she had heard me. "Other than that they're yours," she'd said to me. I heard her quite clearly, so clearly I could do whatever I wanted.

I was, I admit, taken aback at my thought processes. I didn't like kids but I didn't hate them, generally. My sister Louise had two girls. I liked them a lot. I'd never touched a kid in anger or in lust, and had no plans to. But these two brats were different. I shephered them into my apartment, more by dragging them than persuasion, to get them out of the hall and any prying eyes. Especially old Mrs Wilkins down the hallway.

"You're hurting me," complained the girl. Rick tried to wrest his arm out of my hand but I gripped hard. I slammed the door behind me with my foot and pushed them in front of me.

"Okay, you two, this is what we're going to do," I snapped, towering over them. "I'm going to work and you are going to sit very still all day."

"I don't wanna si--" started Rick with a snarl. He stopped the instant I hit him.

It wasn't hard. More of a playful backhander across the face, but he'd never been hit before and it shocked him to silence.

"Hey, you can't do--" Connie's objection was silenced by a similar blow to her face. Not hard, but the message was clear.

I looked at the two kids, each rubbing their cheeks in silent astonishment. I felt in control. "That's the first of many, understand?"

The two children -- no doubt in shock -- nodded, mutely, tears welling in their eyes. Not tears from frustration at wanting something, or because they were trying to manipulate someone else, but tears of hurt. In that moment I was both horrified at what I'd done and thrilled. And the thrill won.

"I don't like you, understand?" I continued. "You are here because your mother wanted me to look after you, not because I think it's a good idea. But that means I do what I want. You don't do anything except what you are told." Connie went to say something but shut her mouth when I lifted my hand. "Now stop rubbing your fucking faces," I snarled. "And put your hands behind your backs."

To my delight, they did. "And for fuck's sake, stand up straight. Shoulders back!" They did. I realized that I was about to get drunk on power; real power to control these children. Even the power to use bad language in front of them was giddying. And I was about to get all the revenge I wanted.

But I also knew that I couldn't let this slip. Now I had started to be a bastard I had to continue without relenting. If anything, I had to be more harsh, maybe completely callous. And the punishments would have to hurt, so they knew this was no temporary game. I wasn't Roseanna and nor was I any of the other babysitters who had come and ghone, horrified by these two. I wasn't Olivia either, but I guessed she would be pleased that the children would learn to obey.

"Stand back to back," I barked. They did, giving me a terrified look as they shuffled back to back. I could see the boy was the same height as his sister, despite being a year younger. "Keep your fucking eyes ahead, not at me. You will learn to obey without question and look where I tell you." Rick dropped his hands and I bawled at him to get them back in place behind him. He did, with a small grumble. I slapped his cheek for that, making him gasp but he kept quiet despite fresh tears.

"If you make a sound I don't like you will be gagged. You know what a gag is?" I walked round the pair. "Go on, tell me!" I peered down at Connie. I am a big guy and I no doubt loomed bigger still over them. She mumbled something about somebody in a cartoon wearing a scarf over their face.

"No, you fucking half-wit," I growled, my face in hers. "A real gag, not a pretend thing. A gag to stop you talking." I straightened up, pleased with myself. I resumed my walk round them. They had expensive clothes on and I decided to make them wear nothing; not for any perverse lust I might harbor but because it would humiliate them more.

I told them to remove their clothes, except for their underpants. They looked shocked but did as they were told, carefully shedding the sweaters and jeans they were wearing until they stood in their pants. In a way they looked quite innocent with virtually nothing on but I didn't care about how they looked.

I only cared about what they were and what I was going to do to them.

"Now, you little scum, you are going to swap panties. I want you to wear each other's little buttbags." The two brats exchanged a glance but snapped their attention back to me when I bawled at them to look at me and not the other little turd. "And don't worry, shits, no-one can hear me yelling. Mommy's gone to work, remember?" I laughed. "Now, you can take off your own pants and hand them over to the other shit. Then it's hands back behind backs and stand with your backs to each other."

For some reason, Connie began to cry, blubbing about Mommy says she shouldn't do things like this in front of strangers. Her snivelling slowed when I told her in no uncertain terms that I wasn't any stranger: I was their babysitter. "And Mommy wants me to do what I want, okay?"

She nodded and did what she was told. When they had both shucked off their pants and handed them to each other and pulled them up, I snickered -- especially at the boy. His new pants were pale pink with bright yellow ducks on them. He must have been aware of how stupid he looked because he was blushing. The girl didn't look much better in her white pants decorated with checkered flags.

I reminded them to, in my words, "get your fucking hands behind your fucking backs and stand back to back." They did.

It even pleased me to see they were shivering through a mixture of fear and cold. Perfect, I thought, as I regarded them standing back to back.

Now for some names -- abusive names -- to make them feel even lower. "Okay, you little shits, you're going to have new names while you are with me. You," I jabbed my finger at the boy, "You are going to be Prick, not Rick. You know what a prick is?" The boy didn't answer. "Tell me," I snapped, but he clearly didn't know. "Okay, slimeball. Prick is that thing you have: a peter, a dick, a cock, a willie, a tail. Whatever you call that stupid thing between your legs, you're it. So what is your name?"

"I don't wan--" he began, and I slapped him across the cheek. He started to cry and only stopped, in shock, when I slapped his other cheek. "I can do this all day," I said. "You want me to show you?" He sniffed back the tears and shook his blond head. "Tell me your name," I demanded.

"P-please..." he began, "I'm Prick."

I smiled and straightened up. "See, that wasn't bad, was it? You do what you're told and there's no punishment. You know what punishment is, Cunnie?"

The girl stared up at me as I walked in front of her, not sure if she had heard her name correctly. "I called you Cunnie, not Connie. That's your name round here. Understand?" Mindful of what I had done to her brother - she may not have seen it but she heard it and felt him recoil at her back - she mumbled a yes. "I really need you to talk more clearly Cunnie," I sighed. "Mumbling is punishable."

She looked up, not entirely certain what punishment was but sensing it wasn't nice. "Please sir, I'm Cunnie," she said, clearly enough.

"And what is a cunnie? Well, you won't know, but you have one. You see, that slit between your leg, in your panties, that girl hole that you have and dear sweet Prick doesn't, is called a cunt. But some people think it's a cunnie. That's what you are. A cunt. A small cunt, but a cunt nontheless."

The child gulped and nodded.

"Better still you've got a new second name," I resumed my walk. "Not Shill, but Shit. From now on you are Cunnie Shit and Prick Shit." I laughed at my inventiveness, at their humiliation. "Now look at the floor. I don't want you looking up while we play a game. I want you to repeat your new names, first you Cunnie and then you Prick. Just say one after the other, my name is Cunnie Shit, My name is Prick Shit. Off you go, Cunnie."

"I... um." she hesitated. Then: "I am Cunnie Shit, I am Prick Shit, I am Cu-' The words froze in her as I delivered a hard blow to her cheek.

"No, you pathetic little fuck! You are Cunnie, he's Prick!" I was nearly screaming, though it was more for effect. "You say your name, he says his name until I tell you to stop."

With tears rolling down her bright red face (I was pleased to see she had remembered to keep her little hands behind her back) she started the game off: "I am Cunnie Shit."

"I am Prick Shill... Shit," the boy corrected himself before I could deliver a blow.

They continued for a few minutes until I grew bored of their voices. But they had got the message. "Okay, shits," I grinned. "Time to stop." I had been standing watching them and now I was back over them. "The next thing is that I want you to remember not to talk in my presence. That means you don't say anything until I tell you. Now to do this, I want you to put your tongues out and bite them. That's to stop you speaking and remind you to stay quiet."

Both dear little sweet children did exactly that, their pink wet tongues sticking out just a little as their teeth clamped down on them. I was pleased at their obedience, but that didn't last long. I watched them for a couple of minutes and then left them standing in the center of the room while I went to the bathroom. When I got back, Prick had let his tongue go back in his slimy little mouth. He tried to push it out as soon as he saw me but it was too late.

"Ah," I said as I approached him. "Little Prick Shit here thinks I'm not serious."

"It hurts," he said as best he could with his tongue still out, forgetting his place if not his position. He was still stood where he should be in his sister's panties, still with hands crossed behind his back, but he had a defiant look on his face. "You can't make me," he said as boldly as he could, his tongue slipping back into his mouth for an instant.

"Oh, of course," I said, reaching out and stroking his face. He flinched, thinking I would hit him yet again. "Don't worry, I won't hit you for this." The pathetic child's face actually lit up for an instant. "No, Cunnie will hit you." A cloud of puzzlement crossed his face. How could his sister hit him like I did?

Of course, she couldn't and wouldn't. The thought occured to me that it would be fun to get these kids to whip each other. Dangerous thought, but oddly satisfying. "This," I said, "Is how you will be punished for some things. One of you Shits does something wrong, the other whips you for it." I could see a look of horror on both kids' faces: they might have been young but even they had heard of whips. They knew a whip was designed to hurt.

"You can't!" The boy Shit began, tongue back in his mouth as he spoke. I grabbed his blond hair and twisted the strands in my fingers, pulling him up almost off his feet. He forgot, and his hands came round to grab my hands. Mistake.

"Oh dear, Prick, you've just made another error. Now your punishment will have to be really hard." The boy was crying, but I ignored it. For some reason Cunnie began wailing too, so I told her to bite her tongue hard and shut the fuck up or she'd get the same. She shut up, despite the sniffles, and I let go of the boy's hair. I told him to get his hands behind him and he did it, sobbing with the pain of having his hair pulled so hard.

I made him kneel down and told Cunnie to turn and face him. She was sobbing too and it was annoying me. She'd even let her tongue go back in, so I reminded her to get it out, quick. She obeyed.

I glanced at her. Snot was running from her cute little nose. It would be fun to get Prick to lick that off her face later. I have a few unusual things - curiosities gathered by friends or bought by me on my travels - and one was a short whip. It was on the wall, with some African masks and a Zulu shield. I left the kids and picked up the whip. It wasn't a bull whip or anything remotely like Zorro might use, but it was long enough. Trouble was, no scars, their mother had insisted and this would easily scar a small child's back. I could of course ignore the instruction but that was risky if only because I wanted these kids back again for more discipline tomorrow.

Yes, the thought had occurred to me quite naturally that this was exactly what I wanted to do with these kids.

Still, I could wrap it in something to soften the blow, but then I thought: little Cunnie won't have much arm strength to really hurt her brother. I pressed the whip into her body and she broke position to take it. She blinked at it but seemed instinctively to hold it correctly. But of course, I was wrong. Cunnie had a great deal of strength when it came to the whip. She demonstrated by trying to lash at me. I tried to catch the whip midflight, the short strands snaking round my wrist and sweater covered arm. It stung bad but didn't draw blood on my bare wrist and I was angry, if not entirely surprised.

"You cunt," I snarled as I yanked the whip from her grasp. Suddenly the girl was running towards the door, screaming. The boy too was on his feet though unsure about running, if only because I was between him and the door. For a split second he tried to dodge past me but I swung my fist and connected with his chest, hard, and he went down bawling.

I strode after the near naked child. She had reached the door but it was locked. I'm not that stupid, but I didn't want her screaming at the door and someone passing my apartment thinking I was doing something wrong. I grabbed her and hauled her back into the living room.

"Okay," I said. "No more playing at this. You shits have have gone far enough." I threw the child down next to her brother, who was half curled up on the carpet. I was mad at them, but in all the anger I had a clear vision: I would indeed tie them up, and gag them. They would learn I was very serious.

What rope I had - cord more realistically - was in the kitchen. I couldn't leave Cunnie and Prick in the living room as they'd bolt for the door again. Or even the window. I might live four storeys up but I couldn't risk them getting on the balcony and someone hearing them above the roar of the traffic. I suppose at that moment I realized my apartment wasn't really designed to be a prison.

A prison? The thought was startling but so right. I needed a prison for these two. I had to make them into slaves, locked in my world. I grabbed the two children and hauled them up, gripping their arms tight. Both of them, forgetting of course about keeping their tongues between their teeth, were shouting and bawling and making themselves thoroughly unpleasant. One of them, the girl of all people, even called me a "fucker." I resolved then and there that foul language from small kids would be very punishable.

The two children put up quite a fight as I dragged them to the kitchen. I got several kicks on my shins though as they were barefooted it probably hurt them more than me. The boy was either aware of a man's anatomy or just plain lucky as he tried to punch me in the balls. He missed, but I resolved I wouldn't if I came to do it to him. If? No, when.

I tossed the two kicking, spitting, howling kids into the corner by the freezer and rummaged in the drawer by the door, keeping my foot against it so they couldn't try to get past me and out. They tried but I pushed them back and fortunately found the ball of cord and a length of twine in the first drawer I yanked open. I turned on them and grabbed the girl, pinning her with my knee on her chest and ignoring the girl's attempts to bite me I hauled the boy into position, back to me. I caught his flailing arms and wrapped the first length of cord round them. I was aware that I shouldn't bind it too tight as I didn't wan the blood supply to his hands affected but I wanted to restrain him and knock the fight out of him. I rolled him to one side, avoiding his kicking feet and grabbed his sister, taking my knee off her, pulling her up and pressing her face first into the corner. With a lot of effort I managed to catch her arms if not her wrists and wound the remaining long length of cord round her upper arms and then her wrists.

I had to keep Cunnie's arms under control if I was to have a chance. I wrapped the cord round their upper bodies to pin them each other back to back and was glad to see some of the fight had gone out of them. At least they had stopped kicking. Unfortunately neither could remember to be quiet and with no other option I had to pull down their pants - not to see them naked but to use as a gag - and rolling them into a tight wad, forced them into their mouths.

Before either of them could spit them out I grabbed a box of adhesive bandages from the side and pulled two large lengths over their pant-filled mouths.

As bondage goes, it was crude but at least reasonably effective. With tear streaked faces and bulging cheeks half hidden by Band-Aids and pants frothing out, they half glowered and half pleaded with their big, wet eyes.

I knelt up and sighed. "You two Shits have just made life harder for yourselves," I said, winding what was left of the ball of cord round their ankles. Happily, they submitted to that without any resistance.

They lay there, sullen, looking up at me as best they could. There was no doubt they were scared now, which is what I wanted. I was also scared but for different reasons: if I wasn't careful it would be all too easy to really hurt these two punks. But I was also excited. I gave them a quick check to make sure they weren't about to slip out of any bonds and headed for where I kept the whiskey. I knocked back a large mouthful and felt better, listening to my heart slowly subside. I also listened for the sound of someone at the door, banging. Maybe even the sound of a cop's voice. At that moment a siren wailed on the street below and for an instant I thought, "fuck, they know!" But the cop car didn't stop and I breathed a sigh of relief. This could be turning out okay, I told myself, though I was trembling.

In the kitchen the boy was bravely trying to get free, wriggling against his sister's back. He stopped when he saw me return and dropped his head back down.

"Okay, Prick Shit, I know what you're thinking. Well, son, it won't work. You and your sister Cunnie aren't going anyplace else today and so you better get used to being tied up and quiet."

For some reason at this point both kids began trying to struggle, as if they were waking from some dream. Or a nightmare. I felt a surge of alarm at their sudden frenzy, as if their combined struggles would make the cords slip. But all that happened was the cords seemed to bite deeper as they strained against each other. They hadn't realized that the more they fought the tighter the knots would get. Still, kids have to learn sometime.

On the other hand, I didn't want them to succeed. I grabbed the the twine and wrapped a good length round them both. Tying it off wasn't easy as they were now trying to kick again with their bound legs so I ran the last of the twine round their knees. Trouble was, as I tightened that and forced their spindly legs back to each other some of the rest of the cord on their ankles suddenly slackened. There was every chance I wouldn't need that but they might just think that if one had come loose then the rest might.

I grabbed what I could to secure their ankles. All I could do was snatch an old towel I had on the side and wrap that tightly round their ankles, It did the job but frankly, it looked a mess. One of the appeals of bondage is that it looks neat but this was far from that.

I stood back, wondering what I was going to do next. That was when there was a knock at the door and my heart froze.